


Legend Killer

by Belle_Elegant



Series: WWE Demon Hunters [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strong Friendship - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Torture, Violence, Western, lots of demons, maybe an angel or two as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 114,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Elegant/pseuds/Belle_Elegant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Roman and Randy Orton are avatars of the Saint of Killers, and the only people in the world that can wield his guns; magic revolvers created by the Angel of Death and will destroy anything, mortal and immortal alike. Though they humanity's sole hope against invading demons from Hell, there are other forces who will stop at nothing to control the Saint. But power comes at a price and Dean, Roman and Randy find themselves fighting not only for their lives, but for their immortal souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of my WWE Demon Wars story. The cast is expanding and the stakes are getting higher.

**Legend Killer**

_**Helena, Montana Territory 1875** _

The territorial capital of Montana territory was moving from Virginia City to Helena soon. With the influx of people migrating to the young city, doubling its population every year, the energetic air gave the city a unique feel like it was vitally alive. Unlike other boom towns that sprang up like weeds, only to die down after a couple of years when the gold ran out, Helena already felt more...permanent.

At the end of a side street, rowdy noise spilled from the many saloons. One of the smaller saloons was filled to capacity with miners, ranch hands, and various other citizens looking for fun. The windows and doors were wide open, letting light spill into the darkening street and allowing the cool June air in. The piano player played a lively ditty on the battered out-of-tune piano. A drunk group of miners sang along with it, even more out of tune. The watered-down drinks were flowing freely, sometimes ending up on the dusty wooden floor. Cards and dice games were being played. It was payday and time to enjoy the fruits of their labors.

At a tiny corner table, former US Marshal now outlaw Randy Orton sat with his back to the wall and wrote notes on the piece of paper. He was taking a chance being out in public, with his face plastered all over wanted posters around town, but he had been going stir crazy in his cabin. Besides, there was a chance he might get lucky tonight and finally verify the identity of the last few members of Nexus, which he couldn’t do while hiding out.

After nearly two months in Helena he thought he had identified the members of the Nexus collective. He had written down several names and descriptions, but two still had question marks. He had to be absolutely sure he had identified them all, or else Nexus would get away…again. That would be unacceptable. The challenge was that in a city of several thousand people it was hard to get a good look at any demons who may be laying low. And without the Saint’s direct presence it was especially tricky, but Randy had mastered the art of identifying demons without the Saint of Killer’s unwelcome presence.

Looking at the names of the people on his list he did know for sure were Nexus, the situation was bad. Nexus had already infiltrated the local government, including the sheriff. This needed to end quickly.

He couldn’t help his scowl as he felt the Saint of Killer’s presence. “What the fuck do you want, old man?” he growled in a low voice that didn’t disguise his irritation. He really wasn’t worried about being overheard with the chaos and noise in the rowdy saloon, but he hadn’t make it this far by being careless. “If you’re here about Nexus, I’m still making sure that I found them all, so go away.”

“ _Not here about Nexus, son. My latest recruits are coming in,”_ the Saint said. He gave Randy a brief rundown of the events the new guys had survived. _“There they are,”_ the Saint said. _“Teach them how to survive.”_

Randy looked up and saw two men walking through the door and looking around. “What makes you think they will listen to me any more than Swagger did?” the outlaw asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. Still a young man, he had spent too much time being a teacher only to watch his students being slaughtered. The horrific deaths of Ted and Cody still ached like a festering gutshot. Jack’s end was almost as bad after Hunter got his hands on him.

“ _For one thing, they are smart enough to know they are in over their heads,”_ the Saint replied. _“Two, these two have a background that will come in handy. They have worked together for a while and trust each other. And as much as you want to deny it, you need help son. You know you can’t take on Nexus alone.”_

He hated it when he couldn’t argue with the Saint. Not with what he knew about what the Nexus was doing. “Fine,” Randy growled. “If that’s all, go away.” He didn’t see the regret that crossed the Saint of Killer’s face as he looked at him. Their relationship had started off rocky and gone straight to hell ever since. The only time Randy called on the Saint was for demon-disposal. Otherwise he wanted nothing to do with him. And he made that very clear.

The Saint of Killers shook his head and vanished back to wherever the hell he went to when he wasn’t bothering Randy.

Both of the new guys were about Randy’s height, give or take a few inches. One had long dark hair and a dangerous air that made most people in his vicinity edge away nervously. The other was a sandy blond, also scowling, but he mostly just looked deranged. They both had the unmistakable look of having been on the trail for a while. Eyes narrowing, Randy leaned back in his chair. He saw the blond scanning the room and waited until they locked eyes before jerking his chin up in a silent invitation/order to come over. Blondie nudged his partner’s arm and they threaded their way through the drunken throng and, snagging a couple of chairs, they sat down at Randy’s table. Blondie rode his chair backwards.

“So you are the Saint’s newest recruits,” Randy said. “You got names or am I going to have to give you ones?”

“Dean Ambrose,” Blondie said. He was cocky one, Randy thought, although he might have just been insane. Randy made a mental note to not turn his back to him. Dean had a large healing scar on the side of his head. It looked like someone had tried to blow his head off recently, and damned near succeeded. The guy was still a bit pale, and he looked like he needed at least three good meals and a week’s worth of sleep.

“Roman Reigns,” said Roman. “And I take it you are…”

Randy interrupted him. “It’s best if my name isn’t spoken where people can hear it. Hearing it makes them act like idiots.” He looked down at the piece of paper and folded it up and put it away in his pocket. He wasn’t going to get anything else done tonight, so he might was well get to know his new students. Leaning forward on his elbows and keeping his voice low he asked, “So, Dean, Roman what were you before?” Before whatever had almost killed them before the Saint of Killer’s stepped in. But he didn’t ask that out loud.

Roman mimicked Randy and leaned in close. He at least, seemed to have some sense of self-preservation. That was good. “Deputy Marshals,” he said.

Randy’s eyebrows climbed and he sat back and cursed quietly. “Fuck. Oh, god. Hunter’s going to love this,” he said.

“He thinks we’re dead,” Dean said with a challenging stare. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Orton, even to look around the saloon. Orton ignored that. If Ambrose thought Randy could be intimidated by a nutbag staring at him, well, he would soon learn otherwise. Randy had brought in Mick Foley back when he was still a US Marshal.

Still, getting Hunter to believe they were dead was impressive foresight. “How’d you manage that?” Randy asked.

Despite the dark circles under his eyes, Roman smirked, “We have a friend who’s telling Hunter of our demise right now. He will also let us know what Hunter is planning next.”

Randy almost smiled. They were better and more prepared than he could have hoped for. He nodded to himself, “That’s good,” The two of them not being pursued by Hunter was one less thing to worry about. It was bad enough that Hunter was out for Randy’s blood. “So you know the basics in tracking and gunfighting. And you know law enforcement techniques and how to avoid them, because believe me, they will eventually be on your trail. But you have no idea how to identify and take down demons. That’s what I am going to teach you how to do without getting yourselves and everyone around you killed.” He was getting an uneasy feeling that he had been out in the open too long but there was nothing concrete, yet.

Dean snorted, the arrogant jackass. “Both Roman and I have already killed demons,” he said. Then he involuntarily flinched back as Randy fixed him with a dead-eyed stare, his blue eyes flat.

“You killed _one_ each. AND there were no civilians around to get in the way, and the demons didn’t know about you. You got lucky,” Randy snapped. “That’s not always going to be the case. For example, Nexus is a collective that knows about the Saint of Killers and about us. They are on their guard. How would you handle it?” he asked.

Roman frowned. “Pick them off one by one,” he ventured.

“Nope,” Randy said. “What we do is identify exactly how many there are, who they are and where they hide. Because when we kill one, rest will go to ground. If any get away, we start back at square one and I am tired of dealing with this shit.” Abruptly, he glanced around the room. His instincts were ticking over that something was coming. The jovial air in the room was beginning to take on an almost frenetic feel and Randy’s hackles began to rise. It was time to bail.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, keeping his voice low. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood up. Dean and Roman did the same, looking a bit confused but taking their lead from Randy. “You guys got horses outside?”

They exchanged glances and nodded. Randy could tell these two had been riding together for a while and were able to communicate without speaking. Thankfully, Dean and Roman didn’t ask questions, they just followed Randy through the crowd of people, but as Dean brushed past a smallish man with a large chip on his shoulder, the man turned and shoved him forcefully, causing Dean to fall back into a not-so-friendly game of poker. “Hey! Watch it,” one of them shouted. The poker men were on their feet, dragging Dean up by his shirt collar and getting ready to beat the shit out him when Roman grabbed one of them, spun him around and hauled back to sock him in the face. However, Randy intercepted Roman’s fist with his hand. The piano stopped playing and the singers stopped singing. There was a tense silence in the saloon as everyone waited to see if the guns would come out. Roman and Randy stared at each other for a few seconds, Randy shook his head and Roman backed off.

Randy let his fist go and turned and spoke to the poker players, “Gentlemen, I apologize for my friend. It was an accident. He was pushed into your table. I’m sure we can solve this situation without bloodshed.” He was met with a skeptical stare from the poker players, so he smiled. It was more of a weapon than a reassurance however and the poker players looked a bit nervous. “Tell you what, lets forget about this and let me buy you a round of drinks.” They looked a bit surly, still wanting to brawl, but Randy was projecting an unmistakable sense of danger that they were reluctant to tangle with. And besides, he offered them free alcohol. They looked at each other and nodded and let Dean go. Randy threw the barkeeper a silver coin who nodded, grateful that there was no imminent property damage.

Randy jerked his head at Roman, signaling him to get Dean out of there before the situation blew up again. As Roman took hold of Dean’s shoulder and guided him to the exit, Randy took one last long look around the room. He didn’t see any Nexus members yet, which was good. But by the surly mood of the crowd, it was coming closer. Then he turned and started to follow Roman and Dean, only to freeze dead when someone exclaimed, “Oh my gawd! You’re on that wanted poster!” If someone had dropped a pin, it could have easily been heard. Randy didn’t move a muscle except to close his eyes in frustration.

Shit.

One man was reacting more strongly to the demons’ vicinity than the others. Too bad for him that Randy didn’t particularly care if it really wasn’t his fault. Roman and Dean were staring at him and he shook his head slightly, indicating that they leave him to deal with the situation. Three men, none of which were the poker players, had pulled their guns and pointed them directly at Randy. Everyone else got out of the way, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

It was the small man who pushed Dean and started this whole stupid scenario. “Take out your guns, mister and hand them to Mike there,” he gestured at the two Smith and Wesson Model Threes that Randy was wearing.

Randy narrowed his eyes and the muscle in his jaw jumped. The small man went a bit pale, but held his ground. “You heard me mister, ease those guns out, butt first,” he insisted.

Randy’s eyes were hard as diamonds and he never took them off the small man. With painful slowness, he pulled the Smith and Wesson's out of their holsters, butt first as instructed and extended them towards Mike. No one noticed that his index fingers were in the trigger guards of each gun.

Mike stepped forward and reached for the proffered handles. His fingers were just about brushing the tips when the guns spun on Randy’s fingers with a slight twist of his wrists. With the speed of a rattlesnake strike, the guns were reversed, barrels pointed at the small man and Mike, but they never saw it. He shot the small man first, the top of his head exploding in a splatter of bone and brains. Before the other two could react, the two Smith and Wesson's boomed simultaneously, and their chests caved in, crimson. There were screams of panic, but no one moved, not wanting to test Randy’s amazing reflexes any further.

“You obviously can’t read. There’s a reason the wanted posters say do not attempt to disarm,” Randy snarled at the small man’s corpse. He looked around at the silent saloon and asked, “Anyone else feeling lucky tonight?”

No one moved. He huffed a sigh and warned, “Do not try to follow me.” He stuffed the guns back into his holsters and stepped backward through the door. Jumping lightly down off the boardwalk and to the hitching post, he untied his big roan and mounted up. Roman and Dean, their eyes wide, grabbed their mounts and followed as Randy kicked his horse into a canter and headed to the edge of town. He didn’t slow down until the saloon lights had fallen far behind. Randy was quietly swearing at himself for being stupid. He should have known better than to admit he was on the poster. His temper had gotten the better of him. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Where did you learn to do that?” Dean demanded, breaking him out of the self-flagellation he had been wallowing in.

“What?” Randy asked absently, still a bit distracted. It was obvious that man had recognized him from the picture, but maybe Randy had been right about his lack of reading ability. He hadn’t named Randy himself, just mentioned the poster. Maybe they had actually gotten lucky and the news wouldn’t get out that Randy was in Helena. Randy snorted to himself, no, there was no way he would ever get that lucky. He now had a deadline to work under as well. _Ah, Randy_ , he thought to himself, _you wouldn’t know what to do if even one thing went your way._

“The thing with the guns! How did you do that?” Dean asked again, his eyes fever bright. He had never seen such a sneaky move.

“I rode with the Missouri volunteers during the war,” Randy said. “Its called a border roll.” He didn't tell them he had only been a teenager when he learned that particular trick.

“Oh god, you have to teach that to me,” Dean practically begged.

“Sure, but it only works on idiots.” Randy explained. “A smart lawman insist that you drop the gun belt, or just drop the guns, so the border roll won’t work. But sometimes you get lucky,” he shrugged, mentally working on a list of things he needed to teach Dean and Roman. They were nearing the edge of town and the population was becoming sparse. Pulling his roan down to a halt he looked around carefully, making sure they weren’t followed. Roman and Dean also stopped and waited, each of them taking a look around as well.

“Why did we leave?” Roman asked. It was obvious that the dark-haired man had a lot going on upstairs.

Nodding in approval at Roman’s question, “The Nexus was near,” Randy said. He also noticed the way Roman slumped in the saddle. It was obvious the man was hurt more than he let on. The horses breathed loudly in the still night air.

“So why didn’t we just call up Mark and take care of them?” Roman wanted to know.

“Who the fuck is Mark?” Randy asked, baffled.

“The Saint of Killers,” Roman told him, giving him a strange look, like Randy should have known that.

Randy shook his head. He hadn’t known the Saint had a first name. He filed that information away to address later. “I need to be absolutely sure I have identified all of them,” Randy said. “Still need to check a few things before we kick this particular anthill over.”

“How the hell did you know they were nearby?” Dean asked, forcibly pulling his mind from the elegant beauty of the border roll. He was actively resisting the temptation to pull out his own gun and try to do it.

Satisfied that they were being unobserved, Randy turned his roan and headed up slope of the nearby mountain. Dean and Roman followed. “Humans, even though they can’t see demons like we can, will react to their presence. One big tell is that a crowd’s mood started to shift,” Randy explained. “With practice, you will be able to sense when one comes close. And that may be enough to save your life.” He turned off on a hidden trail, relying on the horse to know the way and not let them go tumbling over the steep side. He had a small cabin hidden nearby, and he needed to get his new students fed and rested.

They had work to do and the now the clock was ticking down before Hunter extended his reach and tried to remove Randy from the land of the living again.

_ Notes: _

_So here we go with Legend Killer. As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle_

_The Border Roll, (or Road Agent’s spin) is an actual gunslinger maneuver. If you want to learn how it is executed, you can see it demonstrated on YouTube. And you can see Clint Eastwood do it in the movie The Outlaw Josey Wales. Fun fact: Clint Eastwood’s guns in that movie are Colt Walkers._

_Randy’s Smith and Wesson's Model 3’s are the same model of guns were used by Wyatt Earp at the Shootout at the OK Corral._

_The Saint of Killers is (very loosely) based off the character in the Preacher graphic novel series by Garth Ennis. But my version’s personality is very, very different. And if you are easily offended/horrified, you might want to steer clear of Preacher._


	2. Chapter 2

**Legend Killer**

_**Virginia City, Montana Territory 1875** _

Virginia City, the current capital of the Montana territory, was already in the initial stages of decline as the gold played out and the more transient part of the population started to move on. The capital itself was moving to Helena soon, mostly due to the incredibly large gold deposits found there. Barely ten years old, Helena had more millionaires per capita than any other city on earth. But there were still plenty of people in Virginia City, making the narrow streets crowded and difficult to get around.

Smog billowing from the smelters hung in a haze above the town, obscuring the surrounding mountain tops. The acrid smell pervaded throughout home and business, competing with the smell of unwashed bodies, horses, and muck. The growl of the massive grinders, crushing the ore to powder throbbed day and night. In his office in the courthouse, after Judge Hunter introduced Seth to John Cena, he motioned for John to sit and asked Seth to shut the door, muffling the outside sounds.

After he did as he was asked, Seth leaned against the side wall where he could observe both men, doing his best to become invisible.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here, John. How was the trip?” Hunter asked politely.

Seth could tell Hunter didn’t really care how the trip was. “It was fine, sir,” John replied, he too seemed to pick up on Hunter’s lack of interest. He didn’t go into details. “I’ve never been west of Philadelphia.”

Hunter appreciated John’s unwillingness for small-talk. “Ok then, let’s cut to the chase. Vince sent you to me because I asked for his best.” He paused long enough to pour some bourbon and offer John some, but John just shook his head. Hunter shrugged and took a sip. He put the shot glass down and considered it. To Seth he looked worried, the lines in his forehead cut deep as Hunter thought about his words. “As I said earlier, I am sending you after former US Marshal Randal Keith Orton,” he said. “He was _my_ best. Randy was one of the youngest Marshals I have ever worked with, but he was good, damned good. I hand-picked him to be my successor.” Hunter shook his head, smiling briefly at memories that only he could see. But the smile dropped off before being fully realized and Hunter exhaled. He sat up straight and became more detached.

“Things you need to know about Randy Orton: most important is _he is smart_. He thinks in ways different from anyone else I have met. He is unpredictable. Just when you think you have him pinned down or on the run, he will turn and strike without warning. He is also very good at pissing people off because he’s an arrogant bastard. Unfortunately his arrogance is justified because he can back up anything he says. He is a natural with guns. He can hit about any target he has in his sights. Rifle, revolver, shotgun, it doesn’t matter. He is good with them all. And he is _fast_. I cannot stress this enough: _you cannot outdraw him_.” Hunter’s eyes bored into Cena’s. John nodded to indicate he was listening, but didn’t say anything. “In short, he is the most dangerous person you will ever encounter. Do you have any questions?”

“So what happened? Why did he turn?” John asked.

Mentally straightening up, Seth was glad John asked that question. He had never heard Hunter’s version of the story.

Grimacing, Hunter shook his head. His gaze fixed itself in the middle area between the past and present. “I think in the end it was my fault. It was easy to forget how young he was and I pushed him too hard. I should have left him a Deputy for a while longer.” Hunter ruminated for a minute. “It was soon after he was promoted to Marshal and he was assigned two deputies of his own to work with. And he was good at that too. Even though Randy was a complete asshole those two boys worshiped the ground he walked on.” Hunter took another sip of his drink. Muffled noises drifted through the closed door, as well as through the window from the street below. “Anyway, it was just supposed to be an escort job. Chris Benoit and his gang had been apprehended by Marshals Dave Batista and Ric Flair so I sent Randy and his two deputies Ted Debiasi and Cody Rhodes with the prison wagon to bring them back for trial and hanging.”

Seth was watching Hunter’s face closely. He knew that Hunter was choosing his words very carefully.

Tapping the empty shot glass on the desk, Hunter went on. “Ric and Dave handed them off to Randy and his boys up near Fort Benton. When the boys didn’t make it back to Virginia City, I sent out scouts and they found the wagon had been ambushed. All the prisoners and deputies were dead. The only one still alive was Randy, but he had been gutshot.”

All the men in the room winced. Being gutshot was a death sentence. A very long, agonizing death sentence.

“The scouts got him back to Mark Calaway, the local sawbones here, and damned if the kid didn’t pull through, though it was touch and go for a while. Randy got back on his feet and everything seemed to be fine. But,” again Hunter paused, considering his words. “He was never the same afterward. I think he blamed himself for the deaths of those kids. After a month or so, he started acting real strange, talking to himself. We kept an eye on him, but not close enough because he disappeared one night. We looked for him but couldn’t find him. It wasn’t until later we learned that he murdered a citizen in the next town over.”

He was telling the truth, Seth decided, but leaving out a crucial section of the story. Was it because he didn’t know the truth?

Or because he did?

“I sent out a posse to bring him in, headed by my old friend Ric Flair. Ric had mentored Randy for a while and I had hoped he could talk the kid into giving himself up.” Hunter scowled, rage making his voice shake slightly. “Orton killed the entire posse and disappeared. Vanished into thin air. About a year later, he surfaced long enough to kill a miner in Bannack, and then disappeared again. That’s his _Modus operandi_ : he appears from out of nowhere, commits murder, then ghosts. He doesn’t leave a trail and there is no pattern to his crimes. If we could figure out why he is killing random people, we might be able to stop him.”

He was good, Seth decided. Everything Hunter was saying to Cena was plausible. John himself was just listening so far, occasionally nodding but patiently waiting for Hunter to finish.

“And the bastard has the advantage because he knows me and he knows anyone I would send after him. Which is why I sent for you, Cena. He doesn’t know you and for that reason alone you might be able to stop him.” Hunter frowned hard. His eyes fixed on John’s. “The last one was the worst. Orton murdered nine people up in Garnet, a small mining town west of Helena. Witnesses say he was ruthless as he hunted those people down. Three of them were women, two were children.”

Stomach knotting, Seth could see any thought of mercy John Cena might have had for Randy Orton going right out the window. He watched Hunter nodding at John, looking satisfied.

Bastard.

“Any idea where I should start?” John asked, his voice tight.

“There was a spot of trouble in a saloon up in Helena a few night ago. There is a possibility that Orton was involved. I don’t know for sure if the information will pan out, but its a place to start. The local sheriff’s name is Wade Barrett. You and Rollins will be working with him. And remember, don’t even try to interact with Randy Orton. Just kill him on sight.” Hunter glanced at Seth, then back to John. “Any other questions?”

“No, sir,” John said, his eyes hard, and stood up. He extended his hand to Hunter who accepted it and they shook. “Good luck, Cena.” Hunter said, he turned to Seth, “Help Marshal Cena get outfitted. You need to leave before the trail gets cold,” he ordered.

Seth nodded to Hunter, inwardly seething with frustration. He could see how well Hunter played Cena, but he still couldn’t figure out if Hunter knew about demons or not. Hunter had said nothing that would tip his hand. Cena followed him out of the building, not speaking.

“How well do you ride John?” Seth asked. He wasn’t trying to offend Cena, rather he was just getting a feel for what a pampered east coast US Marshal might be used to.

Cena, to his credit, wasn’t offended by the question. “Pretty well,” he said. “Spent a good amount of time in the saddle on my father’s estate growing up. A horse would be much better than a stagecoach. I have no desire to ride in one again anytime soon.” He grimaced.

Seth grinned and glanced up at the position of the sun. There wasn’t enough daylight left to get anywhere before dark, he decided. “Ok, you get over to the boarding house and grab a room for yourself. I’ll get the supplies and see to the horses. We’ll set out at first light.”

John had offered to help, but Seth declined. He had someone he needed to talk to.

A little while later, after Seth had finished at the livery and the general store, he walked over to the undertaker/doctor’s office. The sun was set, but the glow on the western horizon was still bright.

The man wasn’t busy with any patients and nodded a greeting. “Seth,” he rumbled, “Didn’t know you guys were back. How did it go?” “We took the Wyatts down,” Seth answered a bit evasively.

“Dean and Roman still out in the field?” Mark asked, seeing Seth was alone.

“No. We ran into some bad trouble. They didn’t make it back,” Seth said. For some reason, it was impossible to outright lie to Mark. While Seth himself wasn’t as close to Mark as Roman and Dean were, mostly because he wasn’t injured as often, he knew Roman considered the undertaker a friend.

That remark earned him a scalpel-sharp look. But Mark didn’t ask the next logical question of ‘what happened?’. Instead he said, “You’re implying that they’re dead, but not saying it in so many words.”

That made Seth freeze briefly. The man was far too perceptive. Now it was Seth’s turn to choose his words very carefully. “That is what I implied,” he admitted. “Hunter didn’t question it.” He hoped that Mark would pick up on that hint. If Hunter found out, all three of them were dead for real.

Looking at him with those pale green eyes, Mark seemed to be reading his thoughts and Seth couldn’t help but shiver. “Its none of my business,” the big man said. Seth breathed a sigh of relief. He watched silently as Mark began to sort through some herbs. “So what brings you here then? Are you injured?” Mark look at him up and down, spotting the bandage on his upper arm where Glenn’s bullet had caught him several days ago. The wound was healing nicely.

Seth shook his head. “No, its fine. I’m here because Hunter brought in an east coast Marshal to hunt down Randy Orton and I’ve been ordered to help him.”

Mark’s face went neutral. “What does that have to do with me?” he asked, not quite so friendly.

Seeing that reaction, Seth immediately knew that Mark was hiding something. “You treated Randy when he got shot, before he went crazy,” Seth said. “Did he say anything to you about what happened?”

“Like I told Hunter, the kid was out of his head with fever, and I didn’t pay attention to what he was saying.” Mark’s voice held a hint of warning to not question him. “I’m not sure how his ramblings would help you track him down after all this time.”

That was a good evasion, Seth thought. If Randy had been talking about demons, it could be plausibly dismissed as feverish ravings. Was Mark protecting Randy, or himself? Or both? But if Mark knew anything, Seth needed to find out. He walked over to the window to stare out at the street, watching people walk by as he cast about for a way to broach a topic that, up until a few days ago he would have thought completely insane.

Mark finally spoke again. “What do you really want, Rollins?” Any friendliness Mark had shown Seth was disappearing more and more with each question.

Seth decided to just bite the bullet. “Mark, what if I told you that Randy wasn’t raving? That demons exist and they are among us?” he asked as he turned around in time to see Mark freeze, then resume his sorting.

There was a long stretch of silence. Finally Mark asked, “How do you know?”

 _Dean and Roman trust this man_ , Seth thought. “Bray Wyatt was one,” he said, blunt. “So was Glenn.”

Mark stopped what he was doing and looked at Seth again, only this time Seth felt his mouth go dry under the intensity of that gaze. But when Mark spoke, it was with the same tone of voice he would have used to speak about the weather. “You think Orton and his men were ambushed by demons?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Seth answered honestly. “But I think there’s a good chance that every person whom Orton has murdered since then is a demon. And now Dean and Roman are caught up in it too.”

“That's where they are? With Orton?” The man was very, very perceptive. Seth was starting to feel a bit out of his depth.

“Yes. They are hunting a group of demons called Nexus up in Helena,” Seth said. Feeling like he was back in school, Seth tried hard not to fidget under Mark’s gaze.

“So why are you here and not in Helena helping them?” Mark asked. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be partners?”

This was where things got a bit complicated. “Judge Hunter has been sending out us US Marshals to kill certain men. What we didn’t know was these particular men were the only ones who can see and kill demons. But with the Wyatts it was different. He set us up to be their last sacrifice. We were able to stop them, but now I am trying to find out if Hunter knew that the Wyatts were demons and if he did, why is he helping them,” Seth said. He could see Mark thinking over what he had been told.

“That’s why you are still wearing your shield,” Mark observed. “To get close to Hunter. What do you plan to do?” Mark asked.

Seth searched for the words he needed to express his train of thought. “Cena coming here has put my investigation on hold because right now I need to stop Cena from killing Orton and finding out about Dean and Roman. If word about them gets back to Hunter, he will have them hanged for desertion.”

“You’re not wrong about him hanging Dean and Roman,” Mark said, sighing. Seth got the impression he genuinely like Dean and Roman and wanted to help them. “What do you want from me?”

“What makes you think I want anything from you?” Seth asked, trying to appear innocent.

Mark snorted amused. “That act won’t work on me, boy. You want me to watch Hunter while you’re off saving the world?”

“Will you?” Seth asked, hopeful, trying not to sound pathetically grateful. He desperately needed an ally.

“Rollins, I always keep a close eye on that man,” Mark assured him. “Are you going to tell any of this to Cena?”

“I don’t think he will believe me,” Seth admitted. “I had a hard time believing it myself until I came face to face with Bray Wyatt.”

“Say you do tell him, and he doesn’t believe you, what then?”

“I still have to stop him from killing Orton, even if that means that I have to kill him,” Seth said. Saying it out loud suddenly made it all seem real and he went pale at the thought of killing an innocent man, even if it was for the best of reasons. He bit his lip against the wave of uncertainty that washed through him. “Does killing an innocent person make me a bad man?”

“Yes,” Mark said, blunt as always. Seeing Seth’s stricken expression, Mark shook his head and sighed. He walked over to Seth and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Seth, you will find the world needs bad men; they keep other bad things from the door.”

Swallowing, Seth nodded. It wasn’t reassuring but it was something he could hold on to.

Starting out first light, the horses’ breath steaming in the chilly air, Seth and John mounted up and heading north out of Virginia City at a ground-eating canter. The trip to Helena would take a little over two days. Seth was riding his usual paint gelding, and John seemed to like the big bay mare Seth had picked out for him. They didn’t speak much at first. John was trying to get used riding at the pace set by Seth and Seth himself was caught up in his own thoughts. But the road was smooth and soon the scenery, beautiful as it was, became a bit monotonous so John pulled abreast of Seth and started asking questions about life in the West and Seth’s experiences in law enforcement. Seth avoided going into too much detail about his last assignment, and when John found about that disaster, he tactfully changed the subject to his own life story.

Born in West Newbury Massachusetts, his father had sent him overseas before and during the War. Afterward, he had come back and had been living in Washington DC while serving the Supreme Court when the telegraph came through from Judge Hunter Helmsley. He had made the long trip from Washington DC initially by train, then by steamboat up the Missouri, then finally by stagecoach. He was grateful to to not be riding north in a cramped stagecoach. The constant rocking and jolting made him feel a bit nauseous, he confided to Seth.

It turned out that John didn’t know the contents of the telegraph that triggered his trip out west, only that Supreme Court Justice Vince McMahon looked worried, and furious. Vince had immediately ordered John to travel more than 2,000 miles to aid his son-in-law, only saying that Judge Hunter would explain when he arrived in Montana territory.

It was hard not to like the man, Seth decided. John was decent, honest and had a sense of humor. But all Seth could think about was at the end of this trail he would have to stop Cena from killing Orton in any way necessary.

In the eyes of the world, Randy Orton was a remorseless killer. But to Seth, who knew the truth, Randy along with Dean and Roman, was the only hope the world had against the demons. And if worse came to worst, and Roman and Dean were there with Randy when Cena and Orton threw down? Seth needed to make plans to ensure they weren’t caught in the crossfire.

They stopped at a river to stretch their legs and let the horses drink. It had been a while since John had ridden a horse for a long stretch, and his legs and back were starting to get a bit sore. In an effort to ease up the stiffness, he walked around. He noticed an outcropping of granite and wandered over to check it out. The sun was high in the cloudless sky and warmed the rocks. He was watching an eagle soar high above him when he became aware of a buzzing sound nearby. It was loud and it took a few seconds for John to understand it was meant. His eyes widened at the sight of large rattlesnake that had been sunning itself next to the rocks. With a startled yell John reached for his revolver.

Seth, hearing John’s shout, called over to him, “What is it?”

“A rattlesnake,” John called back. Seth dropped the reins of the horses when he saw John pull his gun and jogged over.

“Don’t shoot it!” Seth ordered.

John looked over at Seth as if he was crazy. “Its a rattlesnake!” he said, as if Seth didn’t hear him the first time.

Seth was reminded of Dean for a second but put it out of his mind. “You said that already,” he scowled. “Seriously, why do people like to kill snakes?”

“Because its going to bite me?” John offered. “Look at it, shaking its rattles over there. The thing is just asking to die.” His Boston accent was pronounced in his stress.

“I know you don’t have rattlesnakes out east, so you don’t know about them.” Trying not to roll his eyes, Seth shook his head. “Just calm down. He’s warning you not to get too close because he doesn’t want to get stepped on. He’s hunting vermin and he doesn’t want to waste his venom on you anymore than you want to get bit.”

John eyed the viper with suspicion but backed away. Soon, the snake unfolded itself and disappeared into the grass. “You know your snakes, Rollins,” he said, with a rueful grin. What Seth had said was true. He didn’t know much about the west yet. And he got the uneasy feeling there was so much more he desperately needed to know.

“No, I just think we shouldn’t be killing things that are actually doing good in this world,” Seth replied. “No matter how scary they might be.”

They made it to Helena late the next day.

_ Notes _ _:_

_As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle_

_According to Wild West Tech's "Grim Reaper," most undertakers were doctors doing double duty, which was why I feel I am able to get away with Mark being a doctor and (of course) an Undertaker._

_Mark’s comment about the world needing bad men is a reflection of the dialogue between Rust and Marty in True Detective. “the world needs bad men; we keep the other bad men from the door” which is a theme of this fic. Let’s face it, these men are killers, but they are the only ones that can save the world._

_Rattlesnakes, a member of the viper family, rarely bite people unless they are provoked._


	3. Chapter 3

**Legend Killer**

The first thing that Randy did when they arrived at his small cabin high up in the hills was to build up a fire and get some water boiling in a pot. Lighting a lantern, he looked at Dean. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to a crude wooden bench.

Dean looked at him suspiciously. “Why?” he asked.

“Because that needs to be looked at,” he indicated Dean’s head wound. “Now sit down and shut up.”

Dean, in a testament to how tired and sore he really was, did as he was told. He muttered rebelliously though, not enjoying Randy’s bossiness, but Randy ignored him. He hung the lantern over Dean’s head then proceeded to inspect Dean’s Rowan-inflicted wound. He dabbed at it with a damp cloth with surprising gentleness, dipping it in the hot water to soften the scabs and clean out the grime. It started to bleed again.

“Stop that,” he said when Dean started to squirm. “It needs to bleed to get the dirt out. If that gets infected, you are useless to me.” He was starting on Dean’s arm when he glanced over at Roman, who looked like he was starting to droop with exhaustion. “Reigns, there are some biscuits and jerky in my saddle bags. Get some and eat. And give some to Ambrose.” As usual Randy didn’t ask, he ordered.

After Dean’s head and arm were patched up to Randy’s satisfaction, it was Roman’s turn. Like Dean, Roman opened his mouth to say he was fine, but Randy wasn’t taking arguments. “Your strength is important and I’m not going to trust my back to a couple of guys that could keel over at any moment due to untreated wounds.” Roman obviously didn’t like that but he was too tired to care.

After he was done making sure they weren’t dying right then, Randy told them to get some sleep while he took care of the horses. As the two settled down and quickly fell asleep, Randy took the opportunity to be alone and think. The night was dark, with no moon. The river of stars streamed across the sky and the air was cool. It felt good. Nearby, one of the horses snorted.

He realized he was gritting his teeth in tension and tried to relax. There was absolutely no resemblance between Roman and Dean with Ted and Cody. None. The guys were exactly opposite in everything from temperament to looks. Ted and Cody were fresh-faced and eager to learn. They were fun, never taking anything too seriously, no matter how stressful the job got. But that didn’t mean they weren’t any good at what they did. No, they had potential to be very, very good and Randy was proud to be their mentor, even if he gave them a hard time. They had made Randy laugh for the first time since the War. When they were around, Randy felt the rage he had carried since watching his family slaughtered loosen its hold on him. They had been his first real friends.

And now he got to watch them die again and again every night in his nightmares. Randy vowed that he would never let anyone get that close to him again. Even Edge he considered only an acquaintance.

In contrast, Roman and Dean were hard and hostile. It was obvious they trusted only each other. And that was fine as far as Randy was concerned. He didn’t need anybody, he reminded himself. With what he did for a living, caring about people was a liability. But despite his vow, Randy felt a sort of reluctant kinship with Roman and Dean already. He figured it was because they too had been in the Marshal service and had gone through exactly what he did. That made them brothers, of a sort. And he recognized the same protective instinct for Roman and Dean as he did with Ted and Cody. Ruthlessly he squashed the feeling.

He exhaled, annoyed at himself. He couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved. This whole Nexus situation was very dangerous and if he wasn’t at his very best, none of them would make it out alive. His lips twisted into a smirk. Good thing he was at his best when the stakes were at their highest.

The next morning, Roman joined Randy outside as he was watering the horses. Roman nodded at Randy but didn’t talk. Randy appreciated that. He had gotten up early and cooked some bacon and eggs and left them out for the boys, along with more biscuits and coffee. The air was crisp and still. A few high wisps of clouds broke the blue of the sky. Randy looked at Roman critically as he rubbed his horse’s black forelock. The younger man looked amazingly better after a good night’s sleep and breakfast. Dean’s sorrel wandered over to see if there were any treats.

Randy inspected his big roan’s shoes, making sure none were loose. They were now just waiting for Dean to get up and eat.

Finally, Dean emerged from the cabin, his hair sticking up in all directions and a cup of coffee in his hand. He stretched and walked over to Roman and Randy, sipping the hot liquid. He scowled and moved his coffee protectively out of reach from his horse who stretched its neck out to sniff at it.

Seeing that Dean was awake, Randy decided it was time to get Roman and Dean acquainted with the Nexus. “Alright boys, are you’re ready to get started or do you need more time?”

The two of them looked at Randy, but didn’t say anything. Randy took that as a ‘yes, Randy, please get started’.

“As you know, the Nexus is who we’re after,” Randy said, pulling out his piece of paper and a stub of a pencil from his jacket pocket. “There are six targets: Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater, maybe David Otunga, I’m not entirely sure if he is Nexus, I haven’t gotten close enough to him to find out, same with Husky Harris. There is also Michael McGillicutty, and last but not least, Sheriff Wade Barrett.”

“Wait, we’re going to kill the sheriff?” Roman wasn’t sure he heard Randy right. Dean raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment as he took another sip of coffee. His horse bumped his nose against Dean’s shoulder, almost causing him to spill his coffee down the front of his shirt. He scowled again and shoved the horse’s face away from him. The sorrel, not taking him seriously, stuck his nose back in Dean’s ear, his whiskers tickling.

Randy gave Roman a level look, but answered the question. “Yes, the sheriff is a member of the Nexus and I’m pretty sure he’s the one that got away last time.”

As Dean finished his coffee, he was starting to feel the effects of the caffeine in his system. That made him fidget but Randy ignored him as he listed out the physical descriptions of each Nexus member. “Of course I will make sure you two know exactly who your targets are when we are ready to take them down. We need to go into town at some point and get you two some clothes with less bullet holes in them, and you need a room. This place here is only to be used in emergencies. _You shoot me or one of the horses and there will be an issue_ ,” he growled at Dean, who had pulled out his loaded gun and started to slowly try to work through the motions of the Border Roll. Giving Randy an innocent look, Dean continued to try to spin his revolver like Randy did the night before.

“Where’s Mark?” Dean asked as he concentrated on his revolver. “Thought he would be hanging around.”

“He’s got better things to do,” Randy said, not wanting to discuss the Saint. “Why do you call him Mark?” he asked, his eyes narrow.

Shrugging, Dean said, “He looks like Mark Calaway from Virginia City.”

“Do you see him like that too?” Randy asked Roman, who nodded.

“He said that he looked like Mark because I needed to see a friend when I was dying,” Roman said, his jaw muscles twitching. He still had nightmares about dying alone in the pitch-black mine with blood filling his lungs and drenched in sweat.

Randy snorted. “Manipulative bastard,” he muttered to himself. “I only call on him when a demon needs taking down,” he said in a normal voice.

Dean’s revolver spun out of his fingers and fell on the ground. It didn’t discharge, luckily. Rolling his eyes, Roman shook his head. He and Randy moved to stand off to the side of Dean before resuming their discussion. “How do you know who is a demon if the Saint isn’t around?” Roman asked.

“Didn’t he explain anything to you?” Randy asked, frowning with impatience. Not at Roman though. The Saint should have at least caught them up to speed.

“He did some after I pitched a fit. But he didn’t tell us anything about sensing demons. I don’t think he thought we were going to survive long enough to bother,” he shrugged.

Swearing to himself, Randy tapped his pencil against his chin. Finally he said, “The way I understand it is while the Saint possesses you, a very small amount of his spiritual essence remains in the wound in your soul made when you pull the triggers of the Colt Walkers. With that essence as a part of your soul, you become more sensitive to the spiritual energy around you. Demons have a very corrupt energy, almost oily. You can sense it, sort of like when you are being watched. But its different than that. That's why we need to go into town and expose you two to their presence. Its the only way you will develop the feel... _God damnit Ambrose_!” Randy shouted as Dean’s gun went off, the bullet buzzing between Roman and Randy. The horses jumped.

“What?” Dean asked, innocently. “If I’m doing it wrong, then show me how to do it right. You’re the teacher here.” Dean’s snide tone made Roman shake his head and smirk. Randy’s superior attitude was grating on Dean too.

“For fuck’s sake,” Randy muttered, pulling one of his Smith and Wesson’s from its holster. Dean’s eyes were pinned to Randy’s gun like a cat eying a twitching string. “Here, like this.” Randy demonstrated the move slowly enough that both Dean and Roman could see exactly what he was doing. He did it slowly once more, then one last time at full speed. Roman had to admit it was impressive as hell.

Dean grinned like a maniac and tried again. This time it went smoother. And with less stray bullets.

“Something you might want to remember, in the real world gunmen who rely on flashy tricks and theatrics die quickly,” Randy told Dean, not caring if he was listening or not. “The only old gunslingers are the ones that do not shoot to impress, but to kill.” Again, there was that superior tone.

The rest of the day Randy made them show him their skills with their firearms and tracking. He had them shoot various targets and tested their reflexes. He himself demonstrated how to shoot two separate targets at once. “Normally, demons really aren’t that hard to kill because every shot from the Colt Walker is a kill shot. But the Nexus is different, and you may have to take out two of them at once. Remember, when using the Colts, you don’t have many tries to hit your targets before you yourself feel the effects.” He frowned. “That reminds me, you’ve shot one demon each. How long did it take you to recover?”

Roman and Dean looked at each other. “An hour?” Roman hazarded. He had been unconscious afterward when Edge had found him. That memory reminded Roman that he wanted to ask Randy a question about Edge.

Dean shifted and shrugged. “How should I know? I had just been shot in the fucking head.” He was annoyed that Randy had consistently outdrawn and out shot him. His temper was getting hot and either Randy didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.

It had been colossally bad luck that both Roman and Dean had been wounded while wielding the Colts. That probably added to their recovery time. Randy pursed his lips, remembering how long it took him his first time. He had been damned lucky no one had found him unconscious laying next to the dead body. The recovery period got shorter each time he pulled the trigger of a Colt Walker after that. It was because he had less soul to damage. Lately there was less pain and more numbing, which was itself even worse. He didn’t need the Saint to tell him that was because his soul was damned near shredded from the last Nexus fight in which he had taken most of the kill shots. Swagger had been too new to wield the Walkers effectively, his soul too intact to repeatedly fire those damned guns too many times.

But he didn’t tell them that. And with luck, they would never have to pay the terrible price Randy knew was coming due for himself for his protection of his student. Jack had accused him of arrogance and he agreed. But he had made his decision. “The two of you have to stay together so you can cover one another, otherwise you will be easy pickings.”

Dean scowled at Randy’s tone, if not his words. In his mind, Randy was heavily implying that him and Roman were too weak to work alone whereas Randy didn’t seem to have that issue. Randy’s attitude was so standoffish and superior that it really ground Dean’s gears. He wanted to get a rise out of the man. He could see Roman was irritated too. “What about you, Orton? Don’t you need anyone watching your back?” Dean challenged.

“No,” Randy smirked right back in Dean’s face. There was a hint of warning in his tone that Dean completely ignored.

“Oh yeah? And what makes you so special, Mr. Spoiled Brat I Had Everything Handed To Me Before I Fucked Everything Up And Got My Deputies Killed Randal Orton?” Dean demanded. Roman mentally winced. Dean had the self-preservation instincts of a depressed lemming.

Randy’s face went white, then red. Roman actually thought he was going to draw his gun and shoot Dean. For a long minute the two glared at each other. Then Randy rolled his shoulders and smirked, a bitter twist of his lips. “Because I’m the best,” he growled.

Speaking of nonexistent self-preservation instincts, Roman stepped in between them and said, “So you didn’t you ride with Edge?” he asked. “Funny, I heard otherwise.”

Surprised, Randy grimaced and turned away from Dean. He didn’t like to think about Edge. “How did you know about Edge?” he asked, annoyed. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

“I ran into him a few days ago right before we took down Abigail,” Roman said. “He looked pretty good for a dead man.”

“Its funny, isn’t it Roman? Everyone thinks Edge is dead,” said Dean with fake thoughtfulness. “The word is getting out that Roman and I are dead too. You would think that if Hunter thought Orton was dead, he could do what he needed to do without looking over his shoulder constantly. But here he is, walking around practically daring Hunter and every other lawman to come get him. With an ego that size, you would think Mr. Orton feels he’s better than everyone else. But he’s obviously not smarter than everyone else, or he would make Hunter think he was dead too. Now that you and I are involved, I don’t like feeling like a bull’s eye is painted on me. Are you that full of yourself? What game are you playing Orton?” Dean was swaying on his feet, glaring at Randy through the fringe of his hair.

Eyes narrowed, Randy marveled at Dean’s quicksilver mind. But Randy’s temper was now running high. “The dangerous kind, Ambrose. Its not about Hunter.”

“Then what?” Roman demanded. If they were ever going to trust Randy, and right now that wasn’t looking like a possibility, they need the entire truth. “You’re putting us in danger too.”

“You ever run into a demon on a rampage?” Randy snapped, by now truly enraged. It was a rhetorical question. Obviously neither Dean nor Roman had.

“Well I have, and I’ll spare you the details unless you want nightmares the rest of your life. Demons don’t give a shit about human life. When they come up from hell, the first thing they do is slaughter anything in their path. After that, they keep going. You know what stops them? I do. So what can you do to minimize the damage, maybe even make them pause? Here’s your answer: if a demon knows I’m here waiting for them when they cross over from hell, it makes them cautious. They hide their presence and now its less likely that civilians will get caught in the crossfire. And knowing I’m out there also keeps their attention focused on me, so Edge, or maybe someday even you or Roman here can kill them before they know you’re there.”

Dean’s eyes widened at Randy’s words and Roman held his breath. But Randy wasn’t finished. He stalked towards Dean and snarled right in his face. “So yes, I do wear a fucking bull’s eye on my chest. But I’m doing what I have to to win this damned war and minimize casualties,” he growled. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Nope,” Dean said, simple and direct. Roman could see a new respect for Randy in Dean’s stance and felt a bit of relief that it hadn’t ended in bloodshed. Of course, the day wasn’t over yet.

Randy stepped back, flicking his gaze over to Roman who didn’t move. “You have anything to add?”

Roman shrugged. “How long did you and Edge ride together?”

Rolling his eyes, Randy admitted “We partnered for a short time, back when he was new to the whole demon-hunting business.” They had worked well together at first, but the size of their respective egos made a falling out inevitable and Edge’s inability to keep it in his pants only hastened the end of the partnership. “In the end it was a mutual decision to go our separate ways.”

He decided they needed to move on to another topic before someone got hurt for real. “If you have any other questions, **not** about my private life, you need to ask now since no one has bothered to fill you in,” Randy snarked in case the Saint was listening. His temper was still uncertain but he worked to control it.

“Why are there demons here?” Dean asked suddenly. He had started twirling his revolver absently again. Randy had given him a lot to think about.

“Here in particular? Come Dean, you’re smart enough to figure that one out. Helena is filled with millionaires. Who has more influence than people with money? If the Nexus can take over a millionaire or two, their influence is poised to spread worldwide. Or did you mean here in this country in general? That’s easy to answer, we just fought a major war. They are attracted to all the death and misery it caused.” Randy’s face became cold once more. The War held horrifying memories for him. And after the War, when he had joined the Marshals there was a brief time he thought his life was getting better, that he could put the horror behind him. But the horror came back stronger than ever.

“You fought in Missouri,” Roman said. It wasn’t a question. Randy had mentioned earlier that he had rode with the Missouri volunteers. “Pretty harsh.”

“What about ‘ **no questions** about my private life’ did you not understand?” Randy said through gritted teeth, his rage starting to boil again.

Finally feeling like had mastered the Border Roll, Dean put his revolver away. He looked at Randy and shrugged. “We know nothing about you, except for the stories which don’t inspire confidence. We just want to know if we can trust you to have our backs,” he said mildly.

 _That_ opened Randy’s eyes, both figuratively and literally. He calmed down a bit. He had been so concerned about not getting emotionally involved that he had forgotten that these guys needed to trust _him_ and they couldn’t do that if they knew nothing about him. He realized to his consternation that he had subconsciously been treating them like Ted and Cody: young guys that were inexperienced and still required his protection.

But they weren't. Dean and Roman were grown men with experience and confidence. He too would have been insulted had someone treated him the way he had been treating them. Ruefully he shook his head. _Randy, you’ve been alone too long,_ he thought. _You don’t know how to deal with human beings anymore._

Glancing up to gauge the time, Randy decided it was time to eat. Both Dean and Roman still looked a bit weary from their ordeal with the Wyatts. He motioned them back to the cabin and started whipping up some biscuits to eat with hard cheese and stew.

“Alright, what do you want to know about me?”

Roman asked. “What’s your story?”

As they ate, he told them about his family whom he had lost at a young age, his mother and older siblings were murdered by a gang of thugs while his father had been off fighting down in Mexico. He had hidden, too scared to move until he had been found by neighbors a day or so later, attracted by the smoke from the burned out homestead. He had been sent to an orphanage where he lived until he was old enough to survive on his own.

He had enlisted in the army, lying about his age. He told them about War. Missouri was a unique state in that it had its own troops fighting on both sides, literally dividing the state. Neighbor fought neighbor and entire families were slaughtered by marauding troops. Randy’s voice was very matter of fact throughout the whole telling.

Roman and Dean listened quietly while they ate. Finally Randy shrugged. “After the War I wanted to get away, so I joined the Marshals and came out here. Hunter had known my father from his army days so he took me under his wing. You pretty much know what happened after that.”

Roman and Dean exchanged glances. “So what's the plan regarding the Nexus?” Roman asked, feeling a bit better about their mentor.

“You’ve already figured out Plan A.” Randy said. “They know I’m in the area. They can’t let me live and they know it. They’ll have to come after me before I get to them. But they don’t know about you.” His grin was predatory. “They won’t see you coming.”

“So, what’s Plan B?” Dean asked, his eyes a bit feral. He enjoyed hunting dangerous creatures, human or not. This plan had more than enough variables to make it very exciting.

Randy answered with a psychotic grin of his own. “Burn Helena to the fucking ground. Lets see them try to hide when their bolt-holes go up in smoke.”

If anyone had told Roman that the best teacher he would ever have would be Randy Orton, he would have smirked, and then flattened them for being such an idiot they were a danger to people around them. Everything he ever heard about Orton was bad: the man was a murderer and a traitor; he was arrogant and difficult to work with; he had a mean temper. Technically everything Roman had heard was true. But he began to realize over the course of the next few days that despite all the stories, Randy took his responsibilities about teaching him and Dean how to survive in a world of demons while being hunted by the authority, very seriously. Once he got over his attitude, Randy was a pretty decent guy.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole, Roman decided as he drifted off to sleep as Randy stood watch, feeling almost safe for the first time since before setting out after the Wyatts.

_ Notes _ _:_

_In case you are new to wrestling, I am very loosely basing this story on the Nexus storyline that took place in 2010._

_Helena actually has burned to the ground several times over the course of its history. The symbol of the town is the fire tower on the hill overlooking Last Chance Gulch, which is where the gold was discovered._

_I had to listen to Bury Me With My Guns On by Bobaflex about 100 times to beat this one into a decent chapter that needed to address certain future plot points and some character development. They say 90% of what you write initially is crap (and that's very true in my own experience). And the 10% that may be decent enough to get through an editing process is mediocre at best. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote this chapter. That's why it took so long to get out. I had to convince myself that “good enough” is not a standard I want to strive for. “Best” is worth going for, even if it takes longer._

_As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle_

  
  


  
  



	4. I'm Afraid I've Got Some Bad News

**Legend Killer Chapter 4**

Seth and John rode into the long valley from the south and saw the town in the distance, nestled in the gulch underneath the mountain with north-facing limestone cliffs. The air was heavy, the wind light and the sky was impossibly blue with not a single cloud in sight.

As they neared the town, they could already tell Helena was alive in a way Virginia City was not. The city was filled with the sounds of building and industry. There were plenty of people strolling by on business of their own. The town looked neat, like someone had just tidied up. The buildings were new, and there was very little trash and muck in the streets. The wide dirt streets were so crowded John and Seth had to walk their horses to avoid pedestrians and wagons. As they neared to main part of the town, where the gulch ran straight down the center, John stopped and asked for directions to the sheriff's office.

As he waited for John, Seth looked around and nearly fell off his horse when he recognized a sorrel horse with two white stockings standing hip-shot, hitched to a rail. He smothered a smile and scanned the area, trying to spot his friend. But there were so many people out and about he couldn’t spot him. Then Cena called for Seth to follow and they leisurely made their way through the town and up the hill on the east side of the gulch.

They stopped in front of a large building made of gray stone overlooking the gulch. A freshly painted sign proclaimed the building as the ‘Jail’, as if it wasn’t obvious from the bars on the windows. And yet, even in this rich, booming town there was a man was laying on the ground, shoulders propped against the building across from the jail, a bottle of rotgut in his hand and his hat pulled low over his face. It appeared Helena had its share of drunkards as well.

They dismounted, tied their horses to the rail and entered the building. After the warm sunshine, the interior of the jail was cool and dark. The solid gray stone walls were occasionally broken up by iron barred-windows. It was quiet in the jail as Seth and John entered. A deputy was sitting behind the desk in the entryway, reading a newspaper. He didn’t bother to look up. “Can I help you?” he inquired, there was just a hint to condescension and impatience in his voice and Seth frowned.

Evidently Cena had caught that too. “We’re here to see Sheriff Barrett,” John said, tipping his hat back on his head. His voice brooked no argument.

The deputy looked at them, his eyes widening upon seeing Cena’s and Seth’s US Marshal badges. He hastily stood up and motioned for the pair to follow him into Wade’s office. “Sheriff, there’s some Marshals here to see you,” he said, glancing at them nervously.

A dark-haired man sitting behind a desk looked up as they entered. He had a short beard and an arrogant smirk. His nose looked like someone had tried to flatten it in the past. “I’m Sheriff Wade Barrett. And who might you be?” he asked. He had a heavily English accent. And again, a superior tone.

“John Cena, US Marshal,” John introduced himself. He gestured at Seth. “US Deputy Marshal Seth Rollins.”

Barrett looked strangely delighted. “Ah! US Marshal Cena! It’s good to have you here. What brings you to my territory?” The man grinned from ear to ear, like he was in on the world’s biggest joke. He stood up and offered his hand to Cena. The man was surprisingly tall and lanky.

Barrett ignored Seth, which was fine with him. Seth tried to meld into the background so he could observe. He was getting a strange feeling about Barrett and his deputy, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The ‘my territory’ comment seemed very egotistical, but Wade did win an election so maybe he was justifiably bragging. Nevertheless, Barrett had only spoken a few words but Seth already didn’t like him.

“What can I do for you?” Barrett asked Cena after they shook and Barrett gestured for Cena to sit in the chair in front of the desk. There was more than a hint of ‘why are you here?’ in his question. Seth remained standing.

“We heard Randy Orton might be in the area. Judge Hunter sent us to track down and capture him,” John said. Seth mentally perked up and made a note to ask John about the ‘capture’ phrase. Hunter had explicitly said ‘kill’. Was John willing to go against his orders? Interesting.

Barrett’s face took on a slightly uneasy expression. Looking over at his deputy, Barrett said, “Justin, get us something to drink. I’m sure these men could use it after having been on the road for a while.” He waited for the deputy to leave, then turned back to Cena. “Ah, you heard about the ruckus at the saloon. I assure you Marshal Cena that I am taking it seriously. Three people were killed that night. My deputies are investigating it. There were plenty of eye-witnesses, but unfortunately most of them were drunk. So far no one reliable has named Randy Orton as the killer.”

“What about the bartender?” John asked.

“He has been curiously reticent about divulging information,” Barrett said, the superior tone in his voice coupled with his choice of words really made Seth want to beat his face it.

John made a show of raising his eyebrows at the impressive vocabulary Barrett had displayed. He responded with a smirk of his own. “Perhaps I can convince him to be more forthcoming with his account of the turn of events.”

Barrett grinned again, not seeming to get Cena was mocking him. Seth smothered his own grin by scratching his scruffy beard.

Justin came back with a tea set, of all things. Wade poured some of the hot liquid for himself and Cena. He poured a cup for Seth who declined. Barrett frowned but didn’t insist.

“This is the first lead on Orton in over a year,” John pointed out. “We need to follow up on it.”

Sheriff Barrett smiled again. It was almost...predatory. “I didn’t say coming here was a waste of your time, only that so far we haven’t been able to verify it was Orton in the saloon that night. If it was, then it doesn’t follow his usual pattern.”

“Orton doesn’t have a pattern, except disappearing after he kills his targets,” John countered. “Three people were killed in the saloon. How do you know it wasn’t them he was targeting?”

“Because they confronted him, not the other way around. The witnesses say the killer was trying to avoid a confrontation, but he was provoked by one of the three he ended up killing. They say the victim tried to disarm him but the killer used a gunslinger’s trick to turn the tables and shoot them. No, Marshal Cena, I believe if Randy Orton is still nearby, then his target it still walking around.”

Barrett, at least, was well reasoned, Seth thought.

“If he is still here in Helena, we need to figure out who his target is. So far, they have been completely random, ” John said, drinking his tea. “Do you have a list of witnesses? I would like to talk to them again,” John said.

Barrett nodded and motioned for his deputy to get the list for John. While they waited, John finished his tea. The deputy came back and handed John a list of names and places where the witnesses could be found. After that, both Wade and John stood up and shook hands again. Barrett nodded to Seth, who nodded back, keeping his face neutral.

As they left the jail, John was quiet. Seth had learned John could talk a mile a minute when he got rolling. A quiet John was something new. Seth offered to take care of the horses and get them some rooms, just to get the conversation started, John only nodded in agreement. When Seth asked what John’s next move was, he saw John’s eyebrows draw together, like he was having a hard time focusing. John paused at his horse for a moment.

“Hey, you okay John?” Seth asked.

John shook his head as if to clear it, but grinned the same dimpled grin Seth had come to know over the past two days. “I’m fine, just a bit tired. I’m not used to being in the saddle for so long. I’ll go talk to the bartender,” John said, shaking his head. “Meet me at the boarding house in a couple of hours so we can plan our next move.”

Taking John’s horse by the reins, Seth watched John walk off down the street, feeling something wasn’t right. His musings were abruptly interrupted when someone lurched into him. Startled, he recognized the drunk who had been sleeping by the building across the street. “Watch it!” he snapped.

“You shouldn’t be hanging around the sheriff’s office,” the man slurred, his voice familiar. The man was hanging onto Seth’s shoulder for balance. “He’s bad news.”

Shocked, Seth stared in delight at Dean, who put up a finger to his lips before Seth could say anything. Dean’s eyes were clear and the color was back in his face. He looked much better than the last time Seth had seen him, he had been pale and weak, still dealing with the concussion from being shot in the head. Now he looked rested and alert. Whatever Dean and Roman had been doing in Helena, it definitely agreed with him.

“Meet me behind the livery,” Dean muttered, swaying against Seth’s shoulder, then pushing off and staggered away. People were giving him dirty looks as he brushed by them.

Not wanting to make it obvious he knew Dean, Seth waited a bit before he followed. Leading his and John’s horses, he took his time and threaded through the heavy traffic on the dirt street. He found the livery easily enough after asking for directions. The proprietor met him and agreed to feed and care for the two horses. After removing their saddles and bridles, Seth turned the horses loose into the paddock to rest. Grabbing his and John’s saddle bags, he slung them over his shoulders and walked around back of the livery. He looked around for Dean, finally seeing him a ways off, slouched under a tree. As Seth neared, Dean stood up, motioned for Seth to follow and faded back into an alley behind a small building which looked like a laundry from the amount of clothes drying on the lines.

The mountain sloped up a thousand feet above them. Dean took a deer trail which led them up and away from the town, between rocks and trees, and effectively hiding them from prying eyes and from being overheard. Finally Dean stopped under some pine trees and waited for Seth, who was both amused and annoyed at having to chase his friend so far.

“Seth!” Dean grinned and wrapped his arms around Seth in a hug, clapping him on his back. Seth hugged him back, grinning. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed his brother-in-arms. “What are you doing here?” Dean asked as he stepped back. “You were supposed to be in Virginia City keeping an eye on Hunter.”

“Hunter ordered me to escort John Cena up here.” Seth said, letting the saddlebags slip to the ground. They were heavy and the day was warming up.

Dean’s eyes widened. He had heard of Cena. “Cena? I thought he was in Washington DC. What’s he doing here?”

“Vince McMahon sent him at Hunter’s request. He’s here to hunt down Orton.” Seth caught Dean up on the events in Virginia City, including his talk with Mark. “What were you doing down there?” Seth asked.

“I was keeping an eye on Sheriff Wade Barrett and Deputy Justin Gabriel. Those two are part of the Nexus. Seriously creepy by the way.” Dean gave an exaggerated shudder. He was starting to be able to feel what Randy had described to him and Roman, how to sense the demons’ presence without the Saint. It really was like being covered in something oily and dirty, and it made him more twitchy than usual. He felt like he needed to take a bath.

“Wait, Barrett is part of the Nexus?” Seth asked, horrified. He had felt something was off, but never suspected Wade Barrett was a demon. He felt sweat gathering on his back at the thought of himself and Cena having to work with him.

“Yes, he is. And all of his deputies, Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater and David Otunga,” Dean added as an afterthought.

“Aren't you worried they will notice you?” Seth asked, concerned for his friend.

“Who looks closely at a drunk sleeping on the street?” Dean snorted.

Seth had to admit Dean had a point. He himself had noticed Dean but dismissed him as a homeless drunk. “Where’s Roman at?” he asked, eager to see his other partner.

“Him and Orton are getting a bead on the last members of the Nexus. Orton figures we should be able to take them down within the next day or so, if everything goes to plan.” And Dean fervently hoped so. He hated the feeling of demons nearby. He wondered how Randy could stand it. One of the many things he wondered about their mentor. Randy had told them about himself, but he was still closed-mouthed about a few things. That irritated Dean to no end and he made it his mission to aggravate Randy about it at every turn.

“Who else is Nexus?’ Seth asked.

Dean pulled out a list from his jacket pocket and gave it to Seth. “If you meet any of these guys, get away from them as soon as possible,” Dean advised.

Looking at the list, Seth’s eyes widened. There was an aide to the Mayor, the Sheriff and the three deputies, and a banker of all things. “Christ,” he muttered to himself. “You have to kill all these guys?

Grinning like a psycho, Dean’s eyes gleamed. “Its gonna be fun!” he promised.

Sounds drifted up from the town below: the rumbling of digging, a horse whinnying and a man shouting. In front of them, the valley spread out, surrounded by mountains. To the north, one mountain looked like a giant, laying on his back sleeping. Seth said, “You should know Cena has been ordered to kill Orton. Hunter doesn’t want him to even try to arrest him.”

“OK, I’ll let Orton know,” Dean promised. He turned to Seth and looked him straight in the eye, serious. “Listen, you have to be careful around Barrett and his guys. They are Nexus, so don’t turn your back to them. Also, do not accept anything to eat or drink from them. They can make you open to possession if you do.”

Seth felt his insides turn to ice. “Shit,” he said.

Eyes widening in panic, Dean grabbed Seth by his arms and shook him. “Tell me you didn’t have anything, Seth,” he ordered, his face right in Seth’s, eyes blazing. “Tell me right now!”

“I didn’t” Seth hastily reassured his friend, but it didn’t lessen the horrible feeling inside. “But John did.” Seeing Dean’s look, he told him about John accepting the tea from Barrett. “Is it too late?”

Dean looked grim. He didn’t want to lie to Seth or give him false hope. “You should consider him a casualty of war,” he advised. Seeing Seth’s stricken expression, Dean softened. He hated seeing Seth upset, so he tried to offer something. “Look, maybe there is something we can do about it. If we kill the Nexus fast enough, he might be OK. Like I said, it only makes you open to possession and if they haven’t taken him before we can kill them…” Dean considered what he was saying. “Maybe it isn’t like the Wyatts, where they all died when Abigail bought it. I don’t know. Maybe Randy does. But don’t let him drink any more of Barrett’s tea, if you can. ”

Knowing Dean was trying to make him feel better, Seth nodded, pretending Dean’s words helped. “Could you make sure Orton knows about Cena?” he asked. “He is only doing what Hunter ordered him to do. I’d rather not have to kill him for doing his job.” Seeing Dean looking at him, his lips twisted into a half-grin. “He not a bad man,” he shrugged.

Dean adjusted his hat. “I’ll pass it on to Orton, but I’m not sure he’ll care. That is one cold-blooded son of a bitch,” he said almost admiringly.

“What's he like?” Seth asked, trying to change the subject. He was curious about Randy and was almost looking forward to meeting the man who was already a legend in the law enforcement community.

“He’s exactly like how the stories describe him; which is to say, he’s an asshole,” Dean replied without hesitation. “But,” a dreamy smile appeared on Dean’s face. “The guy is _amazing_ with a gun.”

“Glad you think so highly of me, Ambrose,” a deep voice came from behind them, making them both jump. Dean instantly pulled his gun again, leveling it at the two newcomers. He didn’t shoot when he recognized Roman and Randy, instead settled for cursing at them about sneaking up on him. Orton rolled his eyes, but his smirk was laced with tolerance. “Gotta be faster than that,” he advised Dean who glared as he stuffed the revolver back into its holster. Orton’s gaze shifted to Seth.

 _Cold_ was the only word Seth could think of to describe Randy Orton. His eyes were ice, his demeanor was cool. But he carried himself with an air utter confidence. “And you are?” Orton asked, as casual as a coiled snake. His hand was near his gun.

It was Roman who answered. “Seth!” he moved forward and caught Seth up in a rib-cracking hug.

Dean and Randy stepped back and watched, one with amusement, the other with speculation. “This the guy who is supposed to be keeping an eye on Hunter?’ he asked Dean.

“Yep,” Dean answered. Then shut his mouth.

Seeing Randy glare at him, Dean raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Randy continued to glare.

“Oh? You want more information?” Dean asked innocently, not phased in the slightest.

Randy continued to glare, shifting his balance slightly so he could loom over Dean. Being that Dean and Randy were damned near the same height, it didn’t really work though. And Dean wasn’t one to _ever_ be intimidated. So it became a stare-down that only broke off when Roman snorted in amusement.

“You two planning on standing there all day?” he drawled, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. Both Randy and Dean turned their glares on him, but that worked about as well as it did on each other.

More than used to breaking up glare-downs, Seth rolled his eyes and muttered, “For fuck’s sake.” He raised his voice and said “I’m Seth Rollins,” introducing himself to Orton.

Orton’s gaze transferred back to Seth. For a long moment he just looked at Rollins, then hIs eyes flicked down to Seth’s badge and he nodded to Seth in acknowledgment. “Randy Orton,” he responded.

“Dean tells me you and Roman were tracking down the last members of Nexus?” Seth wanted to get the conversation back on track. “Did you get that done?” He was used to taking control of situations, since Dean and Roman tended to get caught up in one-upmanship. It appeared Randy might have the same tendency.

But Roman and Randy exchanged glances. Roman’s lip curled into a snarl, but it was Randy who answered. “Yes, we did. And we’ve got some bad news. Nexus has been spreading faster than expected. We are looking at nine members now,” Randy said. Dean’s eyes lit up. “Oh even better!” he enthused, ignoring the withering look Roman sent him.

“What’s the plan?” Seth asked, and once again, he found himself on the receiving end of that icy Orton stare.

Randy reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette. Taking a match out of his pocket, he lit it with his thumbnail and lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, tilting his head back to exhale the smoke into the air. “You don’t need to know,” Randy told Seth, the cigarette bobbing between his lips as he spoke. “You’re not equipped to go up against the Nexus. And if they possess you, then they can’t learn our plans. You should go back to town and lay low until this is done,” he advised.

“No, no,” Dean was shaking his head for emphasis at his words before Seth could draw a breath to argue. “We need him. He’s part of this.”

“Besides,” Roman said. “He’s our partner.”

Randy twitched an eyebrow at that. “The Saint protects us. Who protects him?” he asked.

“We do,” Roman answered.

For a second it looked like Randy was going to argue, but he saw the identical look of determination on the trio’s faces and knew it was a lost cause. “It up to you,” he shrugged. “If he gets taken over by Nexus, then it you who gets to put him down.”

“I won’t eat or drink anything from the Nexus,” Seth said impatiently.

“Doesn’t have to be voluntary. Just ask your pal Reigns,” Randy shot back, venom dripping from his voice.

Seth had to admit Randy did have a very valid point, but Seth would never back down. “I know I can’t kill them, but I can help,” he said. “And I can keep Cena from getting more involved.”

“Who?” Randy asked, puzzled. The name was vaguely familiar but he was understandably out of the loop when it came to the current Marshal roster.

“John Cena, a Marshal from out east Hunter brought in to kill you,” Seth said. “He drank some of Wade Barrett's tea.”

Roman scowled harder than usual, but Randy shrugged, unconcerned. “If he gets taken over by Nexus, he’s dead.” Seeing Seth look at him, he raised his eyebrows and said, “What now? Get your priorities straight, Rollins. We are dealing with something bigger than a single guy. ”

“He’s not a bad man, Orton. I just think we should give him a chance. He doesn’t deserve to be destroyed by Nexus without even getting a chance to fight back,” Seth argued. He could see Dean and Roman looking at him. Roman looked vaguely sympathetic, but Dean didn’t.

Exhaling smoke, Randy stepped up into Seth’s personal space. His eyes bore right into Seth’s. “If you want to tell Cena everything, be my guest. But if he doesn’t believe you and ends up getting in my way, I will kill him. Don’t ever think that I will risk myself, or these two here,” he jerked a thumb at Dean and Roman, “for some guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is not enough of us as it is to deal with this shitstorm known as Nexus.”

“You think he might help us if he knows what going on?” Roman asked.

Hesitantly, Seth nodded. “He’s a good person, he’ll want to help. And if we can take down the Nexus fast enough, we can save him.”

Rolling his eyes, Randy shook his head. “Look, Rollins. He may be a good person, as you say, but you know the Saint only recruits remorseless killers for this particular job. That is exactly why Cena won’t ever be able to do what we do. _Its obvious he isn’t a killer_. We are. Now I appreciate your sticking up for the guy, but don’t delude yourself into thinking we are heroes. We aren’t. We are the bad guys, stuck in this shitty situation which is to keep something even worse than us from entering this world. The only reward we have to look forward to is getting killed, usually very violently and in a lot of pain. But we’ll do it, because we have no fucking choice. Killing Nexus is our priority, not saving John Cena.”

Seth’s eyes widened as he heard Randy telling him the almost the same thing Mark had told him. He knew Randy was right; John wasn’t a killer. And they were more important than Cena.

But Dean was right too: Orton was an asshole.

Satisfied that he got his point across, Randy removed his attention from Seth and was looking up at the sky, frowning. There were clouds building to the west. “It looks like there is a storm brewing for tonight, boys.” He grinned an unlikely, smokey grin, and pulled the cigarette from between his teeth. “That's when we take down the Nexus.”

**TBC**

_ Notes _ _:_

_As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization (and wrestling!). ~ Belle_

_The Helena jail is now the Myrna Loy Center for the arts. It still has bars on the windows._

_The Sleeping Giant is a formation north of Helena that really does look like a sleeping giant. It is part of a wilderness study area._


	5. Chapter 5

**Legend Killer**

_Warning: mention of minor character death and swearing._

Inside his isolated cabin up in the mountains overlooking Helena, Randy was going through his belongings. Having left Roman and Dean back in town to keep an eye on things, he planned to be long gone as soon as they were done taking down the demon collective. With yet another US Marshal sniffing around, he knew the longer he stayed in one place, the greater the chances were he would be either arrested or killed. He knew he would kill the Marshal if it came down to it. He wasn’t eager to do it but he would if there was no choice. That was the recurring theme of his existence: kill or be killed.

After a lifetime of both witnessing and then taking part in human slaughter, Randy was used to it but honestly, he was tired of it. Demons he could and would kill easily and with great satisfaction. It was the humans that insisted on interfering with his purpose in life that he was having troubles with. He had begged Ric to leave him alone, to turn back. But Ric wouldn’t listen, had insisted that Randy turn himself in and face justice for the “murder” of a demon-possessed human. After refusing to listen to Randy, to believe him when he told Ric about the Saint and what had happened to Ted and Cody, and trying to kill him for resisting arrest, Randy had no choice but to kill Ric.

Such was the trajectory of his life.

Distant thunder rolled off the mountains. He stiffened when he felt the Saint’s presence behind him but didn’t turn around to face him. “What do you want old man? Its not time yet.” He rolled up a wool blanket and stuffed it into his pack.

The Saint regarded Randy’s back. Then he said without preamble, _‘Edge is dead._ ’ He didn’t bother trying to soften the blow with comforting words. He knew Randy would have none of that.

Randy’s hesitation was barely noticeable, his jaw muscles jumping as he clamped down on the shock, then he quickly resumed his sorting. “What happened?” he asked, his voice steady.

Sighing, the Saint said, _‘He was ambushed by your old friend Dave Batista.’_

This time, the hesitation was more pronounced. Randy just stood for long seconds with his head bowed. Then swearing loudly, Randy threw his pack violently against the wall. Kicking over the table, he paced in agitation around the small room, randomly stopping to kick some furniture or throw something. The Saint watched him but did not say anything as Randy continued to vent his rage and grief. Finally, Randy sat heavily on the crude wooden bench and clutched his head in his hands as he fought to regain control himself.

‘ _Son,’_ the Saint began, reaching a hand out to him, but Randy interrupted him savagely.

“Don’t! Just...don’t! He was supposed to be our ace in the hole. The one nobody knew about.” Randy’s voice broke, but after a few shuddering breaths, he scrubbed his hands over his face and looked up. His blue-gray eyes were red, but dry. “What happened?” he asked, his voice was hollow but steady once again.

‘ _I wasn’t there until the end, he hadn’t yet called on me to confront the demon that had come through. I got there just as he was shot and saw the killer,’ t_ he Saint explained.

“Was it quick?” Randy asked. He knew from experience that a quick death was sometimes the best one of them could hope for. After watching Ted and Cody die, the thought of Edge being subject to what they went through was nauseating. He desperately hoped that was not the case.

‘ _He...yes, it was quick,’_ the Saint apparently changed his mind about what he was going to tell Randy, but Randy breathed a sigh of relief anyway. The Saint wouldn't lie to him.

“Did he...was he able to…?” Randy trailed off, not wanting to ask, but needing to know.

Knowing what Randy meant, the Saint nodded. _‘He was able to move on. There was enough left of his soul.’_

“Good,” Randy took one last deep breath and stood up. “That's good.” He nodded at the Saint, his chin raised, determined not to broach the topic. They both knew that it was unlikely that Randy would any soul left by the time this ugly little war was over. Only a soul, even a damaged one could move on to the afterlife. But with the continuous soul-destroying use of the Colt Walkers, Randy himself was in serious trouble. Without a soul, he would never move on, caught for eternity in the nothingness between afterlives. A fate worse than the torment of hell.

Changing the subject, Randy mused out loud, “So we continue to get picked off one by one. Fuck.”

‘ _Do you think its a coincidence that it was a US Marshal who killed him?’_ the Saint asked, his voice dry.

Randy knew damned well it wasn’t a coincidence. “When we’re done with Nexus, I think its time I pay Hunter a little visit.” He turned and faced the Saint, glaring at the spirit who had eyes exactly like his own. Seeing the Saint’s deeply troubled expression, Randy’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “Oh, what now?” he asked.

‘ _The demon that Edge was going after. I saw what it is,’_ the Saint said with reluctance.

“For fuck’s sake, tell me already,” Randy snapped, now truly exasperated. Given the trajectory of his life, he couldn’t imagine that anything the Saint of Killers had to say would be good news.

‘ _It was Satan’s pet, simply known as the Beast.’_ the Saint said. _‘Its the most powerful demon I know of.’_

Randy closed his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Of course it is. Shit,” he muttered. “Is it still in the Dakota Territory?” He was already mentally mapping out a course of action.

‘ _Yes. But its making its way to Montana territory,’_ was the answer. _‘I think its coming for you. It has already killed many people.’_

...And here was the new normal for Randy.

He had watched his family get slaughtered. He accepted that he was alone and eventually ran away from the orphanage to join the army. Then things in the army went to shit when the War Between the States started. By the age of 21, numb to the horror and bloodshed, when the war finally ended he left the army to join the US Marshals. He hadn’t realized how much worse things could get but then Ted and Cody were killed and he became a soldier in a demon war. Humans had nothing on demons when it came to inventing way to make a person suffer.

His life, such as it was, consisted of hunting demons who tortured humans in new and creative ways, while avoiding being captured by humans. Now he was being hunted by both. If this Beast got his hands on him, Randy knew from experience his death would not come until after hours or days of excruciating agony. He nodded to himself, forcing himself to accept the situation and start dealing with it. “Very well. When we get Nexus squared away, I’ll send the boys after Hunter. That will get them out of the way while I go stop the Beast.” There was no point in running from it.

The Saint knew what Randy was thinking and tried again, _‘Son,’_ he started to say, but Randy cut him off again.

Getting up into the Saint’s face he growled, “Just be sure to keep your promise, old man. That’s the only thing I need from you.” He turned and started picking up the aftermath of his rage. Things went from bad to worse, and he got used to it.

Such was the trajectory of his life.

~~~~~~~

Finding the saloon wasn’t very hard for John. Compared to Washington DC, Helena was a relatively small town. It wasn’t big enough to have that many saloons and they were all located in the same general area. After asking around, John was pointed in right direction. The saloon where the shooting took place was fairly small and nothing fancy. He walked in through the open door. The windows were wide open, letting the tepid breeze swirl the dirt on the rough wooden floor. The bar itself was well-stocked and clean.

There was a man behind the bar with his back to the door, but the mirror strategically placed on the wall behind the bar was enough for the bartender to see anyone entering.

“Not open yet!” he called when he saw John enter, not turning around. “Come back about three,” he recommended. The bartender seemed friendly, until he turned around and saw John’s badge. Then his face, complete with a black eye and a swollen jaw, went neutral.

“Not here to drink,” John replied easily, subconsciously trying to convey he was a friendly. He tipped his hat back on his head. “Just looking for some information.”

The bartender’s eyes darted around nervously, but there was no where to run and no one to call for help. Cena stood between him and the door. He swallowed audibly, but raised his chin. Not a coward then. “I already told them everything I know,” he muttered, wiping nervously at a glass.

“Who?” Cena asked.

“Sheriff Barrett and his deputies,” the bartender said. There was bitterness in his voice and John suspected that Barrett had something to do with the bruises on the man’s face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” John said, annoyed at Barrett. John himself wasn’t averse to violence, indeed he could apply a beating better than most. But the time and place of said beating usually had more of an impact than the beating itself. “I just want to talk to you about…”

“Randy Orton, I know,” the bartender finished for him. “I’ll tell you what I told the sheriff. He was just sitting in here minding his own business. He was joined by two other guys and they went to leave when one of them was pushed into a card game, and Orton broke it up peacefully. But then some idiot decided to call him out. Orton killed him and the two guys backing him. It was self defense from what I could tell.” The bartender shrugged. “He didn’t start it. And after it was over, he just left. A couple of the boys dragged the bodies out back for the undertaker to pick up.” The bartender’s tone implied that bodies weren’t an unusual occurrence.

“And you sure it was Orton?” John asked.

The bartender shrugged. “Could have been, but who knows for sure? He didn’t announce himself.”

John tapped a finger on the bar as he thought. “Describe the two guys who joined him, “ he requested. That wasn’t included in the reports he’d read. Randy worked alone as far as he knew.

The bartender leaned back and looked at the ceiling as he thought. “They were both taller than you, one had long black hair, looked like a mixed breed if you ask me. The other had sandy blond hair and an attitude. Neither looked real healthy though, liked they’d been through some shit, if you pardon my french.”

John waved away the cussing. It was not like he hadn’t heard it before. “Have you seen them around before?”

“No, by the looks of them, they had been on the trail for a while.”

“Was there anything else?” he asked. The two men didn’t sound like anyone who were wanted for anything. But if they’d joined up with Orton, then something must be going on besides the usual hit and run. John’s thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected dizziness. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

“You alright there, Marshal?” the bartender asked, looking concerned. “You look like a goose just wandered over your grave.”

John took a deep breath and the dizziness passed. “I’m fine. Been awhile since I traveled this far and haven’t gotten used to it. Probably just need to grab some food.” He hoped that was it. He focused on his job. “If you see any of those men, or remember anything else that would help me find them, come tell me right away. I’m at the boarding house.” John said. He wasn’t asking and the bartender knew it. But John wasn’t a bully. He pulled out a silver coin and gave it to the bartender, whose eyes had grown large.

“I will,” the bartender promised.

John took his time walking across town to the boarding house. He found Seth sitting in a chair on the porch with his boots propped up on the railing, looking lost in his own thoughts until he saw John. His eyes sharpened as John approached and he stood up. “Hey John,” he greeted him. “Did you find out anything?”

Motioning for Seth to sit down again, John climbed the steps to the porch. The sun seemed overly hot and he was glad to be in the shade of the overhang. “I found out that Orton left the saloon with two other men, neither of whom had been there before.” John reported as he sat wearily in a chair beside Seth’s. “I got a description of them and we’ll start there.”

“You alright?” Seth asked. John was looking a bit pale and Seth was justifiably concerned after his talk with Dean, Roman and Randy.

Removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead, John shrugged. “A bit warm,” he admitted. He looked up at the clouds building from the west, their fluffy gray tops barely visible over the mountain peaks, hoping that they would bring some relief from the sun and heat.

Shaking his head, Seth glanced around and said, “We need to talk.”

Curious, John glanced at Seth, his eyes narrowing at seeing the deputy’s pensive expression. He leaned backward in his chair and put his feet up on the railing, mirroring Seth. “What about?” he asked.

“Wade Barrett and his crew,” Seth said, keeping his voice pitched low. His eyes were on the street in front of them, watching the foot and horse traffic flow by. Behind them, the breeze twitched the curtain in the open window to the sitting room.

Remembering the bartender’s face, John nodded in understanding. “What about them?” he asked, trying to draw Seth out. He was interested in what Seth’s impression of the sheriff and his deputies were. A another perspective alway came in handy.

“I don’t think they are what they seem,” Seth started, searching for the words he needed to convince John of the impossible. “In fact, I think there is more to them than we know, and its pretty bad.” If he could convince John that the sheriff and his men were evil, it would go a long way to help Randy, Dean and Roman. He glanced over at John, who didn’t look surprised. “Judging by your expression, you are either a very good poker player, or this doesn’t surprise you,” Seth said, his voice dry.

Quirking a grin, John shook his head. “I’m not good at poker, so its the latter. Someone had beat up the bartender at the saloon, and even though he didn’t name names, I am pretty sure it was either Barrett or one of his guys.”

“He okay?” Seth asked.

John nodded. “He’ll live, but he’s not a fan of Barrett. He was willing to talk, so they shouldn’t have needed to rough the guy up,” he shrugged, leaning back and closing his eyes. He didn’t see Seth watching a drunk stagger by, an amused look on his face. “So what else you got?” he asked. There had to be more for Seth to bring it up.

“Do you believe in the supernatural?” Seth asked, seemingly completely at random. He was still watching the drunk who was now leaning against a nearby tree.

“What?” John asked opening his eyes, baffled at the sudden change in topics.

“Do you believe in supernatural?” Seth asked again, patiently.

Mulling it over, John thought about it. “You mean like demons and angels and things?” he wanted to know.

“Yes,” Seth answered, drawing his attention away from the drunk and back to John.

John thought about it for a while. “I wouldn’t pretend to know for sure if such things exist. But in my experience, I have yet to see one,” he said.

Knowing that John had already seen some but didn’t know it, Seth pressed his lips together and scratched at his short beard. The drunk man staggered over to the boarding house. Hanging on the porch railing, he started singing an obnoxious song. Seth shook his head and tried not to laugh at the outraged looks from passersby.

“But I guess if I had to answer your question, I do think there is more out there than we know about. _There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy_. ” John shot an annoyed look at the singing drunk. His head was hurting and the singing was completely out of tune.

For a while John and Seth sat on the porch, not talking. The drunk man stopped singing and was muttering to himself as he watched the people walk by. John was just about to suggest they go find some food when he recognized the bartender striding down the street towards the boarding house. He waved a hand to get the bartender's attention and Seth glanced over, puzzled.

“Marshal!” the bartender said, even though John was looking right at him. “I remembered something else.”

John sat up, ignoring the buzzing in his head. “What is it?” he asked, completely calm. He noticed that Seth was watching him with some concern. He wondered if he looked as bad as he was feeling. The drunk man looked interested, too.

“I saw them when they rode by the doors of the saloon when they left, one of them was riding a black horse.”

“Were there any marking on the horse?” Seth asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, a solid black,” the bartender answered confidently. He smiled as he caught the small coin John tossed to him. “Thank you Marshal,” he beamed.

“Thank you sir, for letting me know,” John appreciated the information. There were not too many black horses in town and that narrowed the field considerably. John turned to Seth and was just about to ask him if he was hungry when the bartender, who had turned to leave practically shouted in surprise.

“It’s him!” the bartender yelped, his eyes wide as he stared at Dean.

Still slouched against the rail, Dean squinted at the bartender. “Him who?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“You’re him!” the bartender said again, pointing at Dean.

“I dare you to make less sense,” Dean mumbled and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

“You’re one of the guys who left the saloon with Orton that night.” The bartender looked at John, “This is the guy!”

Oh shit.

John stood up and Seth followed suit, not sure what he needed to do right then. But he was not about to let John arrest Dean. He put a hand on his gun, but Dean subtly put out hand to stop Seth from drawing on John. Seth bit his lip, but trusted Dean to know what he was doing.

“Are you sure?” John asked the bartender, his face was serious.

“Yes!” the bartender said again. “I’m sure of it Marshal.”

John stepped down the steps and stood in front of Dean, who looked at him with that confused expression that only Dean could do so well. “Sir, please come with me,” John started to say, but Dean pulled back, suspicion replacing the confused, drunken look he maintained. Seth marveled at Dean’s acting ability.

“Who’re you?” Dean demanded, slurring his words perfectly.

“US Marshal John Cena, and I need to talk to you about Randy Orton.”

“Never heard of ‘em,” Dean mumbled, swaying.

“He’s lying,” The bartender said quickly, hoping to get even more money from John. “He was there at the saloon and left with Orton, I swear it. He was the one pushed into the card game!”

Seth desperately wished he could shut the guy up.

John was looking between Dean and the bartender. He looked at Dean. “What’s your name, son?” he asked, his tone still friendly and he hadn’t yet drawn his firearm.

Dean didn’t break character at all. “Jon Moxley,” he muttered, his eyes sliding between John and the bartender. “I wasn’t there,” he protested again. Suddenly Dean’s expression changed and Seth thought that Dean looked almost nervous.

“Maybe you were, and maybe you weren’t. But this man seems to think you know Randy Orton. Let’s sit down here and talk about this,” John suggested, still friendly-like, reaching out to take Dean by an arm.

Looking like he was about to be sick, Dean swayed and damned near fell over. John grabbed at his arm to help him stay up. For the first time, Seth got the impression that Dean was no longer acting.

“What seems to be the problem?” a voice asked and Seth turned around, his blood running cold.

Sheriff Wade Barrett was standing there with that shit-eating grin on his face. The deputies Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater and David Otunga were behind him was smirking as well. And Seth suddenly knew why Dean was looking like he was going to vomit his guts out.

“This man was with Orton,” the bartender said, before John could say anything. Then the bartender saw who it was and tried to fade into the background. He didn’t want to attract the attention of the sheriff again if he could possibly avoid it.

Wade’s eyes lit up. “Oh really?” he murmured, walking closer and putting a hand on his gun. He shouldered John out of the way and grabbed Dean by the chin to look into his eyes. “You’re not Orton,” he sneered, then he looked speculative. “Are you another one of the Saint’s men?”

“No…” Dean said, still feigning confusion. His eyes shifted desperately around, but there was no help in sight, and he would not risk Seth.

“What are you talking about Barrett?” John asked. He too was looking like he was about to keel over and Seth realized that the demons’ proximity was affecting both Dean and John.

“Let’s go downtown to the jail, where we can ‘talk’,” Wade said, and the deputy pulled his gun and stepped up to grab Dean’s arm, the gun pressed firmly into Dean’s side. Barrett looked over at John, his smile was pure predatory. “You too, Marshal Cena. We will need your presence as well.”

As if in a daze, John followed the group down the street, clearly not happy but unable to resist.

And Seth could only watch in horror as the Nexus dragged one of his best friends away.

TBC

_John’s quote is from Hamlet._

_Sorry this took longer to get out. I have not, nor will I abandon it. But real life must come first._

_I have been mulling over boosting the rating for the next few chapters because all our boys are in for a very rough time, both physically and psychologically. I hope you all aren’t afraid of a spot of torture._

_Thanks for reading! ~Belle_

 


	6. Chapter 6

Legend Killer 6

Warning: Torture, violence, and swearing.

Nexus:

  * Wade Barrett = Sheriff

  * David Otunga, Heath Slater and Justin Gabriel = Deputies

  * Michael McGillicutty = Banker

  * Husky Harris = Aide to the Mayor

  * Michael Tarver

  * Darren Young

  * Skip Sheffield




 

The Nexus and Dean were barely out of sight and Seth’s only thought was to find Roman.  He figured Roman had to be nearby, that they wouldn’t leave Dean alone with so many Nexus around. He scanned the immediate area but didn’t see his friend. He had no idea where Randy’s hideout was, so going to Orton for help was a no-go. Aside from wandering the streets hoping to get lucky, Seth didn’t know what else productive to do. He started walking quickly up the street, pushing past pedestrians and ignoring their indignant looks and comments, scanning for a black horse or a familiar face with long black hair. He didn’t see either.

Distant thunder rumbled. The air was completely still. Seth ducked down the adjacent street, repeating the process. No Roman.

Next street.

Nothing.

Next street.

Nothing.

The longer Nexus had Dean, the greater the chance of Dean’s being hurt badly or killed. As the precious minutes ticked by, he was almost so frantic he nearly missed Roman’s horse standing hitched to a rail near the bank, swishing its tail at flies. Seth hurried over and untied it. It gave him a puzzled look as only a horse can but Seth ignored it at he swung up into the saddle. He figured if he couldn’t find Roman, then at least he could bring the black horse to the jail and hope Roman came looking for it. He was just turning the horse in the direction of the jail when someone grabbed the bridle and the horse jerked to a stop, nearly spilling Seth over its neck. Seth clutched the saddle trying to regain his balance.

“What the hell, Seth?” Roman asked. He was dressed in new clothes and his hair tied back. A new hat was pulled down over his eyes.

“Nexus has Dean,” Seth said, his voice low as he slid down off the horse. “They think he knows where Orton is.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he said. “Where did they take him?”

“The jail,” Seth answered. “There were four of them, including Barrett.”

That was more than Roman could take on at once and he knew it. “Mark, if you’re around I need to talk to you,” he said to the air around them. Suddenly he felt the Saint’s presence. He turned to the spirit and instructed, “Nexus has Dean. They think he knows where Orton is and there are more of them than I can handle. Tell Orton we need him here now!”

The Saint’s face was as expressive as granite as he disappeared.

Seth, despite not quite being used to Roman talking to thin air, breathed a sigh of relief. Randy’s presence was vital if they were to rescue Dean in time.

They started walking up the street toward the jail, Roman leading the horse. The streets were getting a bit emptier as people hurried about their business and glancing up at the sky. The white fluffy tops of the clouds were showing their iron gray bottoms as they finally came into sight over the mountains. Lightning flashed.

They were nearing the jail when the Saint reappeared beside Seth. ‘ _Orton’s on his way. He says he is going to create a diversion so wait for his signal._ ’  

“Tell him to hurry,” Roman replied.

 _‘Not your personal messenger service, kid,_ ’ the Saint grumbled as he disappeared again.

“How long do you think it will take?” Seth asked. He had snagged Dean’s horse on the way by and was leading it by the reins. After seeing their determined strides and set looks, people were ducking out of the duo’s way.

Roman shook his head. “No idea,” he said. “Orton’s a ways away and he’ll need some time to get the distraction going. We’ll have to be patient and hope that Dean can hold out.” He was worried, though. Dean was tough but if the Nexus decided that Dean was withholding information about Randy’s whereabouts, they would stop at nothing to get it. In any case, Dean was in deep trouble. Hang in there, Dean. We’re coming, he thought as he exchanged worried glances with Seth.

“I’m going to go in there and try to stall,” Seth announced as they neared the jail. He shoved Dean’s horse’s reins at Roman who refused to take them.

“No!” Roman said. Seeing Seth’s stubborn look, Roman said sternly, “Those are demons in there, Seth. They are sadistic and wouldn’t hesitate to kill or turn you solely for their amusement. I know Dean is in danger but we can’t afford to lose you either.”

Knowing Roman was right, but hating not being able do anything, Seth settled beside Roman and did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life: waiting helplessly while his friend was probably being tortured.

Inside the jail, Sheriff Barrett had ordered his three deputies take Dean to a back room. The only light in the room was from a single high barred window. They had stripped him of his weapons and tied his wrists above his head securely with a rope that had been tossed over a crossbeam holding up the ceiling. They took the other end of the rope and fashioned a noose, placing it over Dean’s head and snugging it up around his neck.

“What are you doing?” John demanded. “You can’t do that. He isn’t a prisoner; you haven’t even formally arrested him.”

Barrett glanced over at John. “He may know the whereabouts of a wanted murderer. We need to question him.”

“Not like this!” John insisted. He clenched his fists at the blatant disregard for due process.

“But this way is more fun,” Slater said.

Giving Slater an incredulous look, John’s eyes widened when Wade walked up to him. “Cena, you will do exactly as I say,” he ordered. “You will keep your mouth shut and stand over there,” he indicated a place by the far wall. “You will not interfere, do you understand?”

Stunned, John found himself unable to resist. He watched, furious, as the three deputies and the Sheriff surrounded the prisoner like wolves, but he was unable to form any sort of protest.  The lack of control over his body was horrifying and he found himself shaking at the effort it took to move even slightly.

Barrett waited until Slater and Otunga to finish securing Dean. Stepping forward, he looked into Dean’s eyes, that malicious smile never leaving his face.

Outside thunder rumbled again, low and menacing.

If hanging from a rope fastened to the ceiling surrounded by the Nexus worried him, Dean’s expression didn’t show it. Despite the gravity of his situation he looked confident, almost cocky. He gave Barrett a mocking smile. He knew that John had meant well but following due process meant nothing to the Nexus. He figured that he would have to stall to give Roman and Seth time. He had seen Seth’s face as Nexus was dragging him away and knew his friends were going to rescue him.

“What’s your name, boy?” Barrett asked as he walked slowly around Dean.

Dean wasn’t intimidated. He waited without moving until Barrett stopped in front of him again. “Jon Moxley,” he answered. “Why am I here? Like the Marshal over there said, I didn’t break the law.” He hated the greasy feeling of the Nexus in close proximity. It was especially strong given their numbers. It made him twitch involuntarily.

Still studying Dean closely, Barrett said, “If you must know, we brought you here because we have a question.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. He shifted his weight back, exuding confidence. “Sheriff, if you’ve got a question to ask me...just ask.”

Barrett’s eyes narrowed, a little puzzled off by his prisoner’s complete lack of fear but he plowed ahead anyway. “Do you know where Randy Orton is?”

“Nope,” Dean answered immediately. Cocky bastard that he was, he didn’t bother to try to be convincing and waited expectantly for what he knew was coming.

Without warning Barrett backhanded Dean hard across the face. Dean almost lost his balance and the insidious nature of the rope configuration became clear to John. If Dean tried to keep his balance by grabbing onto the rope as leverage, he would hang himself. And ff he tried to lower his arms, he would strangle. Dean’s continued breathing depended solely on his being able to stand up with his arms raised above his head.

Shaking his head to clear it, Dean looked up at Barrett again, grinning mockingly despite the split lip. Irritated, Barrett sucker punched him, driving his fist deep into Dean’s midsection and all the air out of his lungs.  Dean fought the instinct to double over as the noose tightened around his neck.

“This one thinks he’s tough, boys,” Barrett observed as he stepped back. The deputies laughed and elbowed each other. “We’re going to see how tough you really are,” Barrett said, leaning towards Dean. Slater stepped forward and drew his knife. He started cutting away Dean’s shirt, until it was in chunks by his feet. Barrett eyed the large red scar running down the length of Dean’s forearm.

Dean knew this was going to get ugly, but his innate hatred for the Nexus was strong and helped sustain him. A strong presence suddenly filled his mind.

‘ _The others are on their way. Hang in there, boy,_ ’ the Saint’s graveled voice whispered.

Hearing it phrased like that, Dean couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. Feeling the Saint’s presence was like a balm and Dean knew he could take anything these guys had to dish out. He grinned at Wade.

A flicker of surprise showed in Barrett's face.  He drew back and regarded Dean for a few minutes. “Teach him some manners,” he told Otunga, who took out a whip and positioned himself behind Dean. Wade turned to Dean, “One last time, boy. Where is Orton?”

“Fuck you,” was Dean’s answer. Not being alone made the interrogation a bit more bearable, but it would not make it any less painful.

Wade nodded at Otunga.

The whip came down across Dean’s shoulders like a hot brand. For a second, Dean’s muscles locked up in shock, and then the true pain hit and his breath hissed between his teeth as he ruthlessly fought the instinct to cry out. He forced himself to stand straight and stare directly at Wade. Otunga swung the whip again, cracking right across the middle of Dean’s back.

“Are you going to tell us where Orton is, or do we need to continue?” Barrett asked with his face right up into Dean’s.

Dean didn’t answer, just smiled a deranged smile, and then spit directly in Wade’s face. Wade backhanded Dean across the face again, whipping Dean’s head to the side. Dean huffed out a breath, then started to chuckle. “Is that all you got?” he demanded.

“Where. Is. He? ” Wade demanded, each word punctuated with a punch to Dean’s guts. Barrett was infuriated that the beating wasn’t having an effect on Dean.

Dean just shook his head; his chest and sides were slick with sweat. He could feel his ribs cracking with each blow.

Wade curled his lip into a snarl. “Again,” he commanded. Otunga cracked the whip three more times in rapid succession. Livid bruising was standing out on Dean’s back against the red welts. One welt started to bleed, bright red rivulets against Dean’s pale skin.

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel, the practical one said, “We don’t have time for this, Wade. Let’s just make him one of us. Then we’d know everything he knew.”

Studying Dean, Wade nodded slowly. “Fine.” Barrett jerked his head at Slater, who left the room briefly, returning with a dark jug of liquid. “Hold him,” Slater said to Gabriel who gripped Dean’s face in his hands. Dean thrashed against the hands holding him still; but the rope around his neck was tightening as he struggled.  They poured the stinking, burning liquid down Dean’s throat, forcing him to swallow some despite his best efforts to spit it out. Feeling it burn down into his stomach, he started to panic, but the Saint was there. _‘It won’t make you one of them. I won’t allow it._ ’ said the Saint, reassuring. ‘ _But it will probably make you sick. Be strong.’_

“Easy for you to say,” Dean mumbled as he choked and coughed. The burning receded slightly but darkness was starting to float around the edges of his vision. Inhaling deeply, Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. “Want to know how I got that scar?” he asked, seemingly at random. Barrett glanced again at Dean’s arm.  “The demon-bitch Abigail did that,” he drawled with a smirk, feverish eyes gleaming through his messy hair. “She tried to drain my blood and use me as a sacrifice…right before I shot her in the head with a Colt Walker.”

There was a collective intake of breath as the room went still. “He’s one of the Saint’s men,” Otunga said, eyes wide.

 _‘You really don’t know when to shut your mouth, do you boy?’_ the Saint sighed; amused, annoyed, and exasperated all at once. ‘ _Enjoy being in pain, do you?’_

“I thought so,” Barrett said softly, his eyes triumphant. “Well, you’re not Orton but you’ll do as a warm up until we get him.”

In the corner, John watched not understanding the conversation between Moxley and Barrett; and for the first time in his life was feeling hopelessly, helplessly out of his depth. He became aware of several more men entering the room. He had no idea who they were but Barrett seemed to know and welcome their presence. By the way they talked to each other John figured they all knew what was going on. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“You know you’re days are numbered, don’t you Nexus? There’ll be no going back to hell for you,” Dean promised, his voice slurring a bit. Laughing, Barrett stroked Dean’s swelling cheek.

“It’s been tried it before. Orton himself couldn’t kill us all.”

“Are you sure that Orton is the only other one hunting you right now?” Dean asked. “How do you know there aren’t more of us?”

“Oh I know,” Barrett assured him. “The stars tell us.”

Dean’s eyes widened in recognition right before Slater raised his knife and slashed him across the ribs. Blood ran freely down his side, soaking the waist of his pants. Slater made a complete circuit around Dean, slicing at his chest, back and sides.  “Pretty,” he grinned.

Deputy Otunga raised the whip. The motion was stopped by a voice. “Stop,” John said, sweating with strain against whatever was holding him still. “This isn’t right!”

Stalking over to John, Gabriel studied him for a second, and then sucker punched him hard in the stomach.  John doubled over under the force of the blow and he gasped for breath, but he didn’t lose his balance. He straightened up and faced Justin head on, contempt on his face.

“Keep quiet, Cena,” Justin said softly, “until we get to you.”

“What about him?” Slater indicated to Cena with his bloody knife. “If Orton’s around, we’ll need as many of us as possible to put him down.”

“You’re right,” Wade answered. “Cena should join us now. Imagine having a genuine US Marshal as a member of the Nexus,” he mused, and then jerked his head at the new men. “Young, you and Sheffield get started on Cena. The rest of us will find out where Orton is.”

The two men Barrett had named moved over to where Cena was standing. One of them, Sheffield, grinned. “I love to see humans’ expressions when they realize too late what is really going on.”

Wade turned back to Dean, who was fighting valiantly against the demon blood’s effects, but losing. He could feel his legs getting numb. “Hey Nexus,” Dean taunted as he drew a slow breath, trying to focus his eyes.  “I’m going to kill you.” He raised his head and glanced around at each present member of the Nexus. “All of you.”

The look of hatred on Barrett’s face was very satisfying to Dean, as was the Saint’s chuckle in his mind.  “So you’re not going to cooperate. Fine, we are just getting started,” Barrett said and kicked Dean’s legs out from underneath him.

Outside, Roman and Seth were still waiting. Tense, they scanned the horizon. “C’mon, c’mon,” Roman was muttering. “Dammit Orton, hurry the fuck up.”

“Do you know what his signal is going to be?” Seth asked.

Roman shook his head, but then a wisp of smoke curling straight up in the still air caught his attention. As the seconds progressed, the smoke became thicker. Roman straightened up in understanding. “Plan B! That’s got to be the signal,” Roman said just as the Saint appeared.

 _‘Get in there kid,’_ the Saint said. _‘Orton set the bank on fire. After they leave, get Ambrose out of there.’_

Roman nodded to Seth, “It’s the bank. Let’s go,” and they both hurried into the jail. Roman hung back when he saw the large number of Nexus standing in a hallway but Seth, not as affected by the demons’ presence, headed right towards them. “Sheriff Barrett! The bank is on fire!” he shouted, sounding appropriately panicked. That brought Barrett out, his eyes wide and furious.

“God fucking dammit!” he screamed. Seth paused, affecting a startled, submissive posture. Barrett apparently decided that he was inconsequential and turned to the people inside the room, outside of Seth’s line of vision. “Slater, Otunga and McGillicutty, you’re with me. The rest of you, finish this up!” he ordered as the four of them left the jail at a run. In their haste, they didn’t notice Roman standing in the shadows.

As soon as it was clear, Seth and Roman hurried to the room where the Nexus had been gathered. They stopped dead in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of Dean hanging from the rope, blood dripping from his back and sides, his face red as he slowly strangled to death. Two men stood next to him, obviously not happy at being interrupted by Seth and Roman.

“What the hell you lookin at?” one of them snapped. The other put a hand on his revolver.

“Get away from him,” Roman snarled at the two Nexus members. He felt the Saint’s presence come forward and the Colt Walker coalesce into existence. He knew then he was going to have to kill the Nexus members, leaving Seth to handle things until Orton got there. Fuck, he needed Randy to get his ass here, pronto. Reading his thoughts, the Saint said, ‘Orton’s on his way.’

Darren Young glared at Roman. “Do you know who you’re dealing with?” he growled, a knife held to Dean’s side, whose face was turning purple.

 _“Do you?”_ Roman said, his voice a crawling, grinding sound. He drew the two Colts, pointing them on the demon collective in front of him. He saw the exact second realization hit, their subsequent panic and they reached for their guns.

With no alternative Roman fired. The thunder of the guns was hideously loud in the enclosed space, the echo screaming into nightmares. Both Darren Young and Skip Sheffield died immediately. And Roman, with two new holes punched through his soul, passed out. Seth was at Dean’s side in a flash cutting him down. Dean drew a deep, whooping breath, eyes closed as he lay on the floor. Seth glanced over at John, who still stood frozen off to the side, his eyes wide as he stared at something behind Seth.

“Wow, he was just a fledgling,” Michael Tarver observed from the doorway, prodding Roman’s body with a foot. “He couldn’t even fire those things twice before he went down.” He looked at his dead companions with no remorse. “Sorry mates, but as you know, there are many more of us waiting to get up here to replace you.”

Seth placed himself between Dean and Tarver, but Tarver ignored him. Instead he drew his weapon. “I know Wade would probably want to play with him for a bit, but honestly, the Saint’s guys just need to die,” he said as he pointed his gun at Roman.

“No!” shouted Seth drawing his gun, knowing he couldn’t draw it fast enough.

An unearthly revolver thundered from the doorway.  The man known as Tarver dropped dead, a surprised look on his face.

John felt whatever hold the Nexus had over him finally dissipate. His body, free from the poisonous influence collapsed on the floor. From his hands and knees, he looked up to see a tall man standing behind Tarver’s corpse, holding a ridiculously big revolver in his hand. It looked exactly like one of the weapons that Seth’s companion had wielded.

“Good timing,” Seth greeted the man as if he knew him.

 _“Rollins,”_ the man said in acknowledgement. His voice sounded like gravel and ghosts and cobwebs, and John involuntarily shuddered. The man holstered his gun and stepped over Tarver and into the room. He looked down at Dean, seeing the blood and bruises all over his torso and shook his head. _“Cocky brat,”_ he said.  He glanced up at Seth and reached out and took Seth’s chin, staring into his eyes for a few, long seconds.

John noted how Seth went passive under that stare, holding his hand carefully away from his revolver. Seth’s eyes were wide though, like he was a little unsure of what the man was going to do or was maybe even a little bit wary of him. Then the newcomer nodded at Seth and turned him loose. Then he turned to John and easily hauled him to his feet by the front of his shirt. Now John found himself frozen in an ice-cold gaze, as if the man were searching for something in John’s soul. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Seth motioning to let the man do whatever it was he was doing. Right before he released John, it looked like the man’s eyes changed color but that might have been a trick of the light, which was rapidly dimming as the storm continued to roll in. Satisfied, the man seemed to lose interest in him and went to Ambrose who was still lying on the floor, now completely unconscious. Ignoring John and Seth, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Dean’s bare bloody shoulders.

“You okay?” Seth asked John.

“I think so,” John said, not entirely sure what was going on. He nodded to the stranger. “Are you going to introduce me to our rescuers?” John asked Seth as he fixed his shirt.

Grimacing, Seth glanced over at John’s revolver which was still on his belt. The confident Nexus hadn’t bothered to disarm him. Shifting slightly so he was between John and the newcomer, his hand near his own gun, Seth said, “US Marshal John Cena, meet Randy Orton.”

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Legend Killer 7**

_Warnings: Swearing._

“ _US Marshal John Cena, meet Randy Orton.”_

John’s eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t hesitate as he went for his gun. However Seth was ready for him and beat him to the draw. Seeing Seth’s gun pointed at him and the hard resolve in his eyes, John froze. Despite the mixture of anger and betrayal he felt at Seth’s deception, he had been trained analyze a situation objectively before acting. John slowly removed his hand from the butt of his revolver and held both of his hands out safely away from his weapon. “I trusted you Rollins,” he said mildly. The room darkened as the storm moved directly overhead.

Shrugging, Seth answered, “Sorry John.” Not that he sounded particularly sorry. “But I can’t let you kill him.”

Behind Seth, Randy finished wrapping the unconscious Dean in his jacket and picked him up in his arms like a child. Dean’s feverish head lay against Randy’s shoulder. Randy turned to Seth, not seeming to notice the tense standoff between the two men. “We need to get moving, Rollins. Gabriel got away as Reigns was taking down those two.” Randy kicked at Young’s body to indicate him and Sheffield. “You better believe he's going to run straight to Barrett. They’ll be back soon with the rest of Nexus. You got Reigns?” he asked.

John glanced away from Seth to Randy, startled at the difference in Randy's voice. Now it was smooth and almost pleasant, a human's voice. Not the gravelly, ghostly voice which had made John's hair stand up on end earlier. In fact, his whole stature seemed different. And he didn’t seem interested in killing John despite him being a representative of the law and had just witnessed Randy murdering a man in cold blood. In fact, aside from the earlier examination which had him feeling like an insect, Randy didn’t take notice John at all. For some reason it bothered John more than he cared to admit.

Not taking his eyes or his gun off of John, Seth nodded. “Right behind you,” he promised as Randy left the cell, carrying Dean in his arms. Seth backed toward Roman, keeping his eyes and revolver trained on John. John just stood there, not moving. Seth crouched down and took one of Roman’s arms and draped it over his shoulder, wrapping his free arm around Roman's waist. He grunted with effort as he strained to lift his unconscious friend’s body. Fuck, Roman was almost too heavy to lift with one arm.

Watching Seth struggle, John made a decision. “Let me help you,” he offered. Obviously there was something going on he didn’t understand, but Randy’s words made him nervous. Right now all he knew was he really didn’t want to be there when Barrett came back.

Seth hesitated, torn. He needed help with Roman, but he wasn’t sure he trusted John and it showed on his face.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I do know you can’t get your friend out of here without my help. I’ll help you get him out of here if you tell me what’s going on.”

“What about Orton?” Seth asked.

John shook his head. “I promise I won’t try to kill him right now, or arrest him either,” he added quickly seeing Seth open his mouth. “You have my word.”

Glancing at the door, knowing Orton was waiting for him and time was running out before Barrett and his goons returned, Seth made a leap of faith. “Very well. You help us get out of here, and I’ll tell you as much as I know,” he agreed.

“You have yourself a deal.”

Seth put his revolver back in its holster. John moved to Roman’s other side, taking half of his weight. Together they carried Roman outside where Randy already had Dean in the saddle of his big roan and was mounting up behind him. With one arm around Dean’s chest to hold him upright, he raised an eyebrow at John’s presence but said nothing as Seth and John slung Roman’s body like a sack over the saddle of his black. Roman’s long ponytail fluttered in the freshening breeze. Seth swung up on the black in the saddle behind Roman, keeping one hand on Roman’s back to hold him in place as the black horse danced uneasily at the extra weight and unfamiliar rider. John stepped back, looking around for a horse he could use. He didn’t want to get left behind.

“That one,” Seth pointed to Dean’s sorrel. John put a foot in the stirrup and had barely got up into the saddle when Randy kicked his horse into a ground-eating lope and headed straight out of town with Seth right behind him. The first few icy drops of rain raised puffs of dust in the street. Thunder rumbled overhead.

At first, it took all of John’s skill and concentration just to stay on the horse. The wiry mustang knew immediately John wasn’t its usual rider, and unlike the sturdy bay mare John had ridden into town, Dean’s sorrel seemed to be making a concerted effort to slip out from underneath him. It was all John could do to stay in the saddle. Thankfully though, the horse seemed to be more interested in following Roman’s than unloading its rider, so after a few minutes of clutching the saddle like a greenhorn, John managed to get his feet into the stirrups and find his balance. He decided his best bet was to let the horse have its head and follow the others. Lightning flashed across the livid sky.

As they left town, Randy was happy to see the rain coming in hard and fast. It would cover their tracks nicely. Still, he set a fast pace, well aware Roman’s horse, while a big-hearted animal, was carrying double and struggling to keep up with Randy’s roan, especially after climbing around on the steep sides of the mountain. But he didn’t dare slow down, even as they slipped and skidded up and down various ravines, the rain turning the dirt to slick mud.

Despite carrying double, the roan jumped easily over a fast-flowing creek, running high with rainwater. He stopped the horse on the other side and turned to wait for Seth to catch up; unconsciously he tightened his hold on Dean as the rain and wind picked up. When they were all together, he set out again. By now even the big roan was starting to feel the effects of carrying two grown men over the rough terrain at the swift pace Randy demanded. But Randy knew the horse would drop in its tracks before it would quit. Finally, they came to the small cabin, well hidden in the woods. The trees sheltered them from the worst of the rain and wind howled overhead.

By the time John and Seth pulled Roman off the black and maneuvered him into the cabin, Randy had Dean inside and lying on the table top. “What’s wrong with him?” John asked Seth, indicating Roman. “I don’t see any injuries.”

“Soul shock,” Randy answered for Seth as he peeled away his bloody, wet jacket from Dean's body, finally giving it a name. “The guns’ recoil blasts a hole right through your soul and you go into spiritual shock. Just like your body does when you get shot physically. ” John glanced at Randy’s weapons, noting immediately they were Smith and Wesson’s, not those huge Colt Walkers. He was honestly starting to doubt his sanity.

After the two of them laid Roman onto a dry bedroll in the corner, Randy pointed to the fireplace that had some dry logs stacked next to it. “Get a fire going and some water boiling,” he ordered. “I need to find something.” As he went left, Seth watched him go thoughtfully. Randy himself didn't seem to be affected by the Colts and Seth wondered why.

Outside, thunder cracked like a rifle-shot right overhead and suddenly the heavens really opened up and the rain came down in torrents. Swearing to himself, Randy managed to catch the boys' horses before they could spook and run off. He led them to the lean-to on the side of the cabin and removed their saddles. Hobbling them to ensure they couldn't go far, he glanced around noting the foliage. He was sure he had seen some snakeweed nearby. He just needed to find it in the deluge.

Inside the cabin, John and Seth stripped out of their wet jackets and Seth set to work on the fire.

“OK, Rollins. What's going on?” John asked over the roar of the rain on the roof. He had been patient up until now. “Why are you helping Orton when we had orders to kill him? What the hell is up with Barrett and his goons? And who are these guys?” he gestured to Roman and Dean.

Rubbing tiredly at his forehead, Seth gave John a very brief rundown of events from the time Hunter had ordered him, Dean, and Roman to bring in the Wyatts, Glenn and the Saint of Killers, Abigail and Carcosa, and the decisions made in the aftermath.

“So, Barrett and his deputies are demons too?” John asked again, trying to wrap his head around it. “And you knew?”

Seth shook his head. “Not until after we got here and Dean told me, otherwise I would have never let either of us get near them.”

“The Saint of Killers?” John asked as he started cleaning up Dean’s wounds with a wet cloth. “Is all that for real? The Sword of the Angel of Death? You’re not bullshitting me?”

“You were in the room with him,” Seth said as he poked at the infant fire, trying to coax more warmth and heat from the burning logs. “Both Roman and Randy were possessed by him as they killed the Nexus. That was his voice you heard. Those were his guns that killed those men.”

John shuddered at the memory. “And you think Hunter set you guys up?” he asked, greatly disturbed.

Giving John a steady look, Seth nodded then turned his attention back to the fire. He placed a small pot of water in the fire to start heating. “We do. It was too much like what happened to Orton and his crew. It would be a hell of a coincidence otherwise.”

“And you don’t believe in coincidences.” Considering that, John asked hesitantly. “Do you think he set you and me up too?”

Worrying his lip with his teeth, Seth shook his head. “No, that was real. He intends for you to kill Orton.” The fire was burning brightly by now so Seth stood up and faced John, deadly serious. “So what’s your plan, John? Are you going to follow Hunter’s orders and try to kill Randy? Or are you going to help us try to save the world?”

John’s face hardened. “I don’t take kindly to being used. And if Judge Hunter is really helping demons, I will do my best to help you guys, if you’ll have me.”

Relieved, Seth smiled and extended his hand which John shook, sealing their pact.

Seth had given John a lot to think about. As the fire burned and the cabin started to warm up, a soaking wet Randy came back carrying a thick handful of large leaves, and some hair from his horse’s tail. He threw the hair into the pot which was starting to steam as it neared its boiling point. “Hair stew?” John joked.

Ignoring him, Randy bent over Dean, examining the aftermath of the interrogation. Seth winced when he saw the wounds. Randy glanced up at Seth and beckoned him over. He picked up some of the leaves he had brought in, still dripping from the rain. “Here, put these on the shallower cuts,” he instructed.

“What is it?” Seth asked taking the leaves, which were about the size of his hand and looking at them closely. He had seen them before, they were from a weed.

“Snakeweed,” Randy answered absently, his attention back on Dean's wounds. ”A friend showed me this. They stop the bleeding.” Satisfied, Randy went to stand by the fire as he stripped off his dripping shirt.

“Jesus Christ!” John swore in surprise, staring at Randy's back.

Seth followed John's gaze and nearly dropped the snakeweed. “God, what happened to you?” Seth asked.

In the light of the fire, Randy's skin glowed gold, setting off the intricate design over the back of his neck and shoulders that looked like it had been _burned_ into his skin. The scars were a deep black, horrifying yet strangely beautiful.

“Some demons have very elaborate rituals they need to perform to gain their full power,” Randy said, his tone indicating he did not want to talk about his scars. As he turned around they could clearly see the bullet scar on his stomach.

“Benoit?” Seth guessed.

Randy's jaw muscles clenched briefly, but he nodded. He pulled on a spare, dry shirt, covering himself. Rummaging around in his pack, he pulled a small leather container out and fished out a needle. He then took a stick and pulled the hair from the boiling pot of water. He threaded the needle with the softened horse hair. “Get that lantern over here,” he ordered Seth. “I’ll need more light.”

Seth picked up the lantern and held it above Dean. Dean’s face was flushed with fever, his skin hot and dry. When the light was positioned to his satisfaction, Randy calmly started stitching up Dean’s deeper wounds.

“Where did you learn to do this?” John asked, coming over to watch.

“The war,” Randy said. “Our unit lost its doctor, so as the one with the smallest hands and the best eyes; I was ‘nominated’ to be ours. I learned what I could by watching the surgeons on the battlefield. You know how it was, or you would have if you’d fought.” He glanced up, his icy gaze sharp at John with a vague hint of disdain. Men who had fought in the war were scarred, always haunted in ways that another soldier could sense. John wasn’t scarred. Curling his lip, Randy went back to work stitching up Dean.

Seeing Randy dismiss him like that, for the first time in his life John felt ashamed he had not fought in the war. His father had sent him overseas, ostensibly to attend university, but he had privately suspected that it was to avoid the possibility of him getting killed in the war. “I wanted to, but my father wouldn’t let me,” he said, a bit defensively. “Weren’t you too young to fight?” he asked.

“My father wasn’t around to stop me,” Randy shrugged, for some reason glaring at the corner. He focused again on Dean, carefully pulling one of the gaping wounds on his back together and stitching it shut, gushes of fresh blood smearing his hands and running down Dean’s sides. Dean involuntarily twitched at the stinging pain and Randy said to John in a crisp voice, “Hold him still.” It was obvious he was used to giving orders.

John gently pressed Dean's shoulders to the table top. Dean struggled but didn't regain consciousness. Outside thunder rumbled again. In an effort to change the subject from his nonexistent war record, John asked again, “So what happened to your back?” In the corner, Roman stirred.

“Like I said, some demons have very elaborate rituals they need to perform to gain their full power,” Randy said, his voice clipped. That was all he would say about it.

 _He remembered the smell of dew on the grass under his cheek; the sun was not yet above the horizon as Cody inhaled, filling his lungs with the cool air while Teddy prayed._ He shook his head to get rid of the memory and tried to steady his hands again.

“You and your deputies were sent to be the last sacrifice to Benoit,” Seth invited Randy to open up. “Just like Dean, Roman and myself with Abigail.” He waited for Randy to either tell them what happened or to tell them to shut up.

Randy did neither. He just kept stitching Dean’s wounds, flat out refusing to talk. Only his jaw muscles twitching, and a slight tremble in his hands gave away his mood. Seth and John exchanged looks. They could feel the tension radiating off of Randy and decided to drop the subject, as tantalizing as it was. Outside the rain slowed to a gentle shower, and then stopped. Finally, Randy finished with Dean’s wounds. “Clean him up,” he said to Seth. In the corner Roman was awake, leaning against the wall looking like he was nursing the mother of all hangovers. Wiping his bloody hands on a rag, Randy went over and crouched in front of him. “How’re you feeling, kid?” he asked, looking at him closely.

He glared at Orton. “Like I’ve been kicked by a mule,” Roman answered, his voice hoarse. “Don’t call me kid.” He looked over at the table, where Dean lay with Seth and John cleaning up the blood and bandaging his torso. “Is he going to make it?”

Randy grinned his disturbing, psychotic grin, his pale eyes were bright with suppressed rage. “Ambrose? Oh yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s probably going to be mad that he’s going to miss taking down the Nexus. We took out three, which is a pretty good start. Just six more to go.” Randy slapped Roman’s knee. “Give it a few more minutes,” he said as he rose to his feet. He glanced at John, his expression becoming flat. “Does the US Marshal know how to cook or did his father not let him do that either?” he asked, snide.

John glared. It seemed like Randy’s special skill was to piss people off. “I can cook,” he said shortly.

“Well then, there you go,” Randy waved at some food on the shelf. “Make yourself useful,” and went outside to put some distance between himself and the others’ questions before he lost his temper completely. He lit a cigarette, exhaling furiously as he fought to control his rage. He would never talk about Benoit. Ever. To anybody. He knew he was overreacting, but them bringing it up was like prodding a gaping wound. Outside the cabin, crickets’ chirping filled the still, cool air. The sun had gone down and the last glow of the sunset painted the jagged north western horizon. Everything was wet and the rich, sweet scent of pine trees filled the air. Drops of water dripped from the branches overhead. He was glad for it. There were no unpleasant memories associated with this. He was so caught up in his thoughts he missed the fact he was being watched.

“Hey Randal,” a voice greeted from right next to him.

Randy’s gun was out of its holster and pointing at the person who spoke before he could register who it was. “God dammit, Punk! That’s a good way to get yourself killed,” Randy snarled at the newcomer while mentally berating himself. It had been a long time since anyone had been able to sneak up on him, and that was unacceptable even if he knew the person.

“So is not paying attention to things around you,” scoffed Punk. He moved so Randy could see him more clearly under the dark trees.

Randy had known Punk for several years. They had met while Randy was on the run from Hunter’s posse. Randy had killed a demon which had been lurking near the native tribe’s territory but had the bad luck to nearly get caught by Ric Flair and his men. Without Punk’s help, Randy would have undoubtedly been captured and executed. Punk’s straight black hair was a dead giveaway to his half breed parentage. His mother was a member of the Blackfoot tribe; his father was a white man. Randy never once asked about it.

“Grandfather asked for you,” he said. ‘Grandfather’ was the affectionate term he used to describe the powerful old Blackfoot medicine man, Crowfoot.

“For fuck’s sake,” Randy groaned. “I can’t come,” he said to Punk’s surprise. Randy had always been willing to drop everything for Crowfoot before. He knew the old medicine man wouldn’t ask for him on a whim.

Punk became serious, “What’s going on?” he asked, picking up on Randy’s bad mood.

Exhaling, Randy said, “We just engaged the Nexus. They got hold of one of the new boys and cut him up pretty good, but he’ll be back on his feet in a day or so. We managed to get three of them, but there is still six more, with luck. If not, there’ll be more. But that’s not the end of it. We need to get Nexus sorted out fast because according to the Saint, there’s a new demon fresh from hell heading this way, called the Beast. And this one lives up to his name,” Randy said. He lowered his voice, “And to top it off, Edge is dead. He was killed by US Marshal Dave Batista.”

Muttering to himself in his native language, Punk shook his head. “I will tell the old man, but try not to delay too long. I think it’s important you see him as soon as you can.”

“See who?” Roman asked from a few feet away. He had followed Randy out of the cabin to get more information.

Neither Randy nor Punk jumped, they had been aware of his approach. Randy introduced them to each other. “Punk, this is former deputy US Marshal Roman Reigns, one of the Saint’s latest recruits. Reigns, this is Punk, member of the Blackfoot tribe and all-around wise-ass.”

The two men sized each other up. It appeared they mutually decided to treat each other neutrally for now. Shaking his head, Randy turned back to Punk. “Tell Crowfoot I’ll be there when can I get there,” he sighed, trying not to feel overwhelmed. It made him uneasy to blow off a summons from the old medicine man, but there was no way he would let his new charges face the Nexus without him. The last time that happened, Jack Swagger had died.

“Very well,” Punk said, obviously not happy. “I’ll keep an eye out for this Beast. Give you updates on its progress. You be careful,” and then he said something in his native tongue to Randy and walked silently into the forest.

“Who was that?” Roman asked Randy after Punk disappeared from sight.

Randy stubbed out his cigarette. “Punk is a member of the Blackfoot Nation. He’s saved my ass a few times and not just from the Marshals.”

“What did he want?” Roman asked, genuinely interested. He never really had to deal with the native people and knew most of the civilized population looked down on them as heathens.

“The old medicine man Crowfoot wants to see me,” Randy said as he turned to walk off his still-simmering rage. Roman strode along beside him, ignoring Randy’s temper.

“How important is it that you go see this old man?” Roman asked.

Randy’s shoulders slumped as he ran a hand over his neck, trying to ease the tension. “It’s pretty important, but I just don’t have the time right now. You didn’t know this, but Edge is dead. He was killed by Batista.”

Roman stopped in his tracks, staring at Randy’s back in shock as older man kept walking. Then he hurried to catch up. “When did that happen?” he asked.

“This afternoon, the Saint told me,” Randy said. He glanced around. “And it gets worse. Batista killed him before he could kill the demon he was hunting. So that one is still out there and it’s heading this way. This wouldn’t be so fucking annoying if there were more of us or if we could get some help.” Mentally he cursed Hunter, again.

“What about your friend Punk?” Roman asked. “He seems to understand the situation.”

“All the natives know about demons. They’d been dealing them off and on for centuries. They had ways to vanquish any demons stupid enough to show their faces in their territories, thanks to their connection to the earth spirits,” Randy said.

“Why don’t they help now?” Roman asked.

“You may not have noticed, or cared, but the United States army has been making it its mission to wipe out the native populations. And their people’s faith is being converted to Christianity. The natives can’t fight the demons with all their warriors and medicine men being slaughtered by the army,” Randy said bitterly. “And thanks to missionaries, they are losing their connection to the earth spirits.”

Roman, who had only vaguely kept up with the national events could only say “Fuck.” Like Seth he did not believe in coincidences. “So do you think Hunter isn’t the only one in the government helping the other side?”

Randy nodded. “Either deliberately or in ignorance,” he said. “But the results are still the same. Anyone standing against the demons is being systematically destroyed. We’re the last soldiers fighting this war. If there were more of us we might stand a chance, but as it is now it’s just you, me and Ambrose.”

As Roman stood there in the wet forest at night, he felt like he was catching a glimpse of the vast power struggle they were caught up in, with one side being hounded and losing by attrition, fear and neglect. As their numbers dwindled, the other side’s grew in bloodthirst and hatred. The raw edge of terror ran its icy fingers up Roman’s spine. Three soldiers, though wielding unimaginably powerful weapons, could not stand for long against demons, the Marshal Service and the United States’ armies. It was like he could finally see how big the situation really was: one long chain of events that stretched back to the dawn of time. But the dominoes didn’t start falling until one man, in an effort to avenge his slaughtered family had accidentally killed an innocent and was sent to hell. Roman’s blindfold of ignorance had finally been torn away and he realized they were fighting a war in its final throes. “We can’t win this can we?” he asked softly, almost sick.

Seeing Roman finally understood, Randy looked at him with something like compassion. “No,” he said. He had accepted that fact a while ago. “But I will kill every last damned demon I come across before they take me down.”

With all the shit he had lived through, and knowingly fighting a losing battle for the fate of the human race, it was no surprise the guy was a bitter asshole. And for the first time Roman felt he could truly understand Randy Orton.

Surprisingly, talking to Roman helped Randy’s mood. For too long it had been like trying to struggle up a mountain with staggeringly heavy burden, and then Roman came along and took some of the weight. He was still carrying the burden, but now it was just a bit lighter. Feeling better, Randy started walking back towards the cabin, Roman beside him. The aroma of warm biscuits and stew greeted them. Right before they entered the cabin Roman asked, “What did Punk say to you right before he left?” Roman knew there was no chance in hell he could pronounce the words.

Randy glanced at him. “It’s the name given to me by the Blackfoot tribe. It means One Who Destroys the Ancient Evils from the Old Tales. Or Legend Killer, if you prefer,” he shrugged.

TBC

_Snakeweed, also known as Plantain (not the bananas), stops bleeding when applied to wounds._

_I did try to find a Peigan language translator, but unfortunately there are not many people left today who know the language of the Blackfoot people, and I could not find Peigan dictionaries available on the internet. So what the Peigan translation for Legend Killer is, I wouldn’t dare even to guess._


	8. Chapter 8

**Legend Killer 8**

**Warnings: Swearing, Angst**

After Randy and Roman left the cabin, John and Seth carefully moved Dean to the bedroll where they had laid Roman earlier, trying not to tear his stitches. Then John set about proving Randy wrong about his ability to cook.

“Is he always an asshole?” John asked eventually, making sure there was no horse hair left in the pot before he got started.

Snorting a laugh, Seth said, “I’ve only just met him today but according to Dean, yes he is.”

John glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “What happened with Benoit must have been really bad for him to still react like that,” he observed.

Remembering Abigail and the cavern of horrors, Seth could completely understand Randy's reaction. “What we went through with Abigail was beyond nightmares,” he said slowly, trying to explain to John something he could never understand unless he himself experienced it first-hand. “But unlike Randy, we had already met the Saint. By the time we went up against that bitch and her followers we knew what was happening. We were also very, very lucky. All of us survived.” Seth shuddered and drew a deep breath. He still had nightmares about Carcosa. “It could have easily gone the other way. Randy was the only one of his group to make it out alive. You saw his scars. I imagine those memories weigh on a person.”

Seeing Seth’s haunted expression, John decided to change the subject. They talked about inconsequential things for a bit, like what herbs would make the stew taste better and that led the conversation to what made meals on the road palatable. “We let Dean cook exactly once,” Seth said. “He told us it was rabbit stew, but I am pretty sure it was heated up swamp muck.” The food was nearly ready when Roman and Randy came back, both looking thoughtful.

“So what’s going on?” Seth asked. He was glad to see they hadn’t killed each other, given the mood Randy had been in when he left and Roman’s own volatile temperament. Oddly, Randy looked more relaxed than at any time Seth had seen him.

“Did you know the natives call Randy the Legend Killer?” Roman asked, very nearly teasing Randy who just rolled his eyes in response. He was more interested in the food. “So is it edible, Marshal?” Randy asked, coming over to inspect dinner.

“Call me John,” John suggested, determined not to take any more crap from Randy. “And I'll let you know when it’s ready.”

Randy smirked at him, but backed off and went over to check on Dean. Dean’s fever was still high, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He reached down to gently brush the damp hair from Dean's forehead.

“At least he’s not tied up at the bottom of a mine shaft,” Roman commented, grabbing a place by the fire. Seth nodded in agreement.

John glanced over at Roman. “What happened?” he asked, dishing up the food. As they found places to eat, Roman and Seth told him how they had first met the Saint of Killers. John listened in fascination as they described the shoot-out with Glenn and his two stooges, especially from Roman’s point of view. Time passed quickly and soon Seth was asking, “Should we save some for Dean?” looking at the rapidly dwindling supply of food. The four grown men were making very short work of John's meal.

“He's not going to be hungry for a while,” Roman said, speaking from experience while wolfing down a biscuit. “This is pretty good, Cena. Much better than Dean’s cooking.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Dean said from the corner. Seth and Roman grinned at each other. The atmosphere in the cabin was relaxed. Even though some of them had just met, all of them shared common experiences and enemies.

Randy ate in silence, listening to them talk but not offering to join the conversation. It had been a long time since he had been in the company of other US Marshals and it felt...nice. More than that, it felt _right_. He had missed the comradery more than he realized.

All too soon John asked, “What's the plan for taking out the Nexus?”

That earned a sharp look from Randy who had been staring into the fire, lost in his own thoughts. But it was Roman who answered. “We had one earlier, but those plans went out the window when Dean got captured and you and Seth got involved. But Seth will come up with something,” he said. “He’s brilliant at planning.”

Seth looked both flattered and mildly alarmed at the same time, glancing at Randy with uncertainty. But Randy just smirked at his discomfort and to his surprise gestured a ‘go ahead’ to him. “I have a few ideas but I’ll need more information before I can get anything nailed down,” Seth said as John distributed the last of the biscuits by tossing them across to whoever held a hand up.

“What do you need to know?” Roman asked, catching two biscuits with a nod of thanks. With Seth there, it felt like old times to him, if old times could be described as a few weeks ago.

“How much does the Nexus know about you guys?” Seth asked Randy.

“Too much,” Randy admitted. “They know about the Saint, the guns and me. Unfortunately they now know about the brat over there,” he gestured at Dean, who was awake enough to make a rude gesture back. “And they probably know about Reigns since that nosy bartender told them I met with two guys at the saloon that night. And Reigns is hard to forget with that pretty face of his,” Randy teased.

Roman also made a rude gesture at Randy, who grinned evilly back. John watched their interaction with a little bit of jealousy. They were comfortable enough to tease each other without the threat of violence. He was definitely feeling like the outsider here.

Mulling that information over, Seth asked Randy, “Do you think Nexus still want John?” John looked a little nervous at that.

Nodding Randy said, “Oh yeah, they definitely want him. He’s a famous US Marshal who is now tainted with their blood and they can control. If they can finish possessing him and get him back to Washington, the Nexus will be impossible to eliminate.” He had seen the taint through the Saint’s eyes. It looked like an oily black stain running through the bright essence of the man’s soul. He was honestly tempted to just kill him before the Nexus could take him over, just for John's own sake.

“If they’re looking for me,” John said, trying to sound calm, “maybe I should go. My being here puts all of you in danger.”

“Knock it off with the martyr routine” Randy sneered. “We’d still be in danger even if you weren’t here. Believe me, they want us dead more than they want you alive.” Roman and Seth exchanged smirks at Randy’s words. Seth had called Roman out for trying to be a martyr more than once.

“Besides, they can control you if they get near you,” Seth added, glancing at Randy who was glaring in annoyance at John's sincere offer to help. “I’d like to avoid having to make these guys kill you too when they take down Nexus.” He gestured to Randy, Roman and Dean.

Scowling, Randy glanced over at Seth. “What are you talking about? We aren't going to protect him.”

John looked startled at that. Seth frowned and thought Randy was just being an asshole. “It’s not about protecting him, Orton. We need someone inside the Marshal's office that can stand up to Hunter. I’m just a deputy, but John is a full-rank marshal. He has more authority than me and contacts out east. Hunter would be less likely to try to pull shit with him. And then I can be available to help these guys.”

Roman looked thoughtfully at John but Randy was shaking his head. “Don’t you remember what happened when you killed Abigail?” he said. Really, Seth should know better.

Closing his eyes at the memory, Seth’s shoulders slumped. “Shit, I forgot about that,” he admitted.

“What?” John asked, trying to follow the conversation.

“Tainted humans don't survive if the infecting demon dies.” Randy’s tone was very factual. “But on the bright side we’ll know the Nexus is truly gone when you drop dead.”

John swallowed and went pale.

“Christ, you are a cold bastard,” Reigns said as he shook his head in amazement.

And that was true, John decided watching Randy shrug in response. But he wasn’t as cold towards the kids. John wondered what exactly they had gone through to gain Randy Orton’s extremely rare affection. He had to admit privately to himself he was used to being treated like he was important and Randy’s complete indifference to him had bothered him. But at least now he understood why. To Randy, John was just another dead person who just hadn't stopped breathing yet. But Randy didn’t know John, and John wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Is there any way to get rid of the Nexus’ taint?” John asked him directly.

They all looked at Randy, curious about the answer.

Randy steepled his fingers and tapped his forehead as he considered his reply. He was tempted to lie to them and say there wasn’t, because telling John the truth would give him a false hope there was a chance. But he decided against it. Randy was many things, some of them downright nasty, but he wasn’t a liar. “I’ve seen the natives do it once. But it wasn't pleasant for the guy they did it to,” he said. Crowfoot had performed the cleansing ceremony on one of the Blackfoot warriors and if Randy had been any other person, he would still be having nightmares about it. What he had witnessed made him briefly, truly grateful for the Saint’s innate protection from demon possession. But that wasn’t even in the top five horrible things he had experienced in his lifetime. Still, it had been a very disturbing ceremony. And the Blackfoot warrior hadn’t been the same after that.

“Do you think they would help me?” John asked, looking hopeful.

Randy shrugged. “They aren't feeling too friendly towards the white man these days. But if Old Crowfoot thinks you’re worth it, he might do it,” Randy said surprising himself. “But it has to be done before we kill the Nexus,” he warned. The look of gratitude in John’s eyes made him feel uncomfortable. He hadn't decided how he felt about John. Cena represented everything Randy’s life was not: safe, he had a father who had protected him and he had the respect of his peers. Randy could easily hate the man. But decided it wasn't worth the effort. The guy would be dead by the end of the week, yet another number added to the staggering body count of Randy's life.

Meanwhile, Seth was still analyzing the situation. “We need to hit them when they least expect it,” he muttered.

“How are we going to do that?” John asked, squaring his shoulders as Randy's pale stare came to rest on him again at the word ‘we’. “They'll be on their guard after this afternoon.”

But Seth answered his question with one-shouldered shrug. “I'm still working on it. We need to make them think they are hunting us,” he said, thinking more out loud than talking to his audience, his eyes distant. Roman saw Seth's expression and smiled fondly at his friend. When Seth was in full planning mode, they never failed. The guy was nearly an architect when designing and executing complex plans.

Seth gathered up the courage to ask his next question. “Why don’t the Colt Walkers affect you?” he asked Randy, who didn’t bristle to his straightforwardness. “Both Roman and Dean go into shock after killing a demon, but you seemed fine after Tarver. Have you built up a resistance or something?”

Randy could tell by Roman’s expression he had suspected the truth and in the corner, he could hear Dean struggling to sit up. Sighing, he shook his head. “No, it’s just the opposite. The Colt Walkers’ recoil doesn’t affect me anymore because my soul has sustained too much damage from using them so much.”

Pale, Roman swallowed hard. “The Saint told me it would happen eventually, but I thought it would take a lot longer.”

Looking tired all of the sudden, Randy reminded him, “Kid, I have been doing this for years _._ Normally it wouldn’t be a problem because demons are mostly a single entity, e _xcept for the Nexus_. And I’ve already gone up against them twice,” he said, ignoring Roman's muttered, 'Don't call me kid.' “That’s why it’s so important the Nexus gets put down for good this time. Shit like this will shorten the shelf-life of your soul considerably.”

“What happens if we lose our souls?” Roman asked. He looked right at Randy but Randy stayed silent. It was the Saint of Killers who answered from the corner of the room, _‘I will_ _cut you off from the guns before it gets that far. But you and the brat over there are fine. You will be able to kill a hell of a lot of demons before your souls become truly endangered.’_ He didn't say anything about Randy however. The glare Randy leveled at the Saint could have melted lead. But the Saint was unmoved. Having been through literal hell itself, Randy's rage did not intimidate him at all. Roman shifted uncomfortable as he relayed the Saint’s words to the others.

“What about Randy. Are you going to cut him off?” Seth asked.

“He'd better not,” Randy growled.

‘ _When I decide it, he will be,’_ the Saint of Killers answered with a tone of utter finality, but only his three acolytes heard the answer. Randy glared in fury and hatred at him. Roman and Seth exchanged looks and Seth, catching the unspoken assent, dropped the subject.

John was watching Randy closely. He knew the guy was years younger than himself but it was easy to forget that in the face of Randy’s knowledge and experience. When he heard Randy confess the price he was paying for killing demons, he felt sick. He wanted to be able to hate the guy because he was a stone cold killer and an outlaw, but the man was literally sacrificing his soul to fight for the human world. By the time he pulled his thoughts away from Randy Orton, the conversation moved on. Seth and Roman started talking about the individual Nexus members, kicking around ideas with Dean occasionally making a comment that didn’t necessarily add to the conversation but they appeared to be used to it. John made some suggestions too, but Randy himself withdrew from the conversion. After discussing ambushes and traps until the fire burned low, Seth decided they needed sleep and sent them off to bed. Roman grumbled good-naturedly and Dean just lay back down and drifted off to sleep again. Randy didn't say anything but he left the cabin.

It was still dark when John woke up from an uncomfortable dream the he couldn't remember. He looked around, noting the fire was now merely faintly glowing embers. The three youngsters were sleeping peacefully together in a way that suggested closeness and mutual trust he could only guess at, but there was no sign of Orton. Feeling uneasy, he gingerly got up and slipped out of the cabin. The night air was utterly still. The stars blazed brilliantly overhead through the towering pine trees but the eastern horizon had the faintest glow of the impending sunrise. Having lived all his life in the city, John took a moment to marvel at the awesome beauty of nature but was no sign of Randy. He decided to check to see if Randy's horse was still there. He was nearing the paddock when he heard a voice, low but practically snarling with rage.

“You can't do this to me.”

John almost jumped out of his skin, but as he was reaching for his gun he recognized the voice. Orton was talking to someone. Curious, he crept closer. He saw the silhouette of Randy leaning against his horse, arms crossed over its bare back. The horse itself was just standing hip-shot, head lowered. There was silence for a bit then Randy spoke again. “If you cut me off, how am I supposed to defend myself when those fuckers come after me?”

John strained to hear the answer, but there was nothing but silence. Randy paused and seemed to be listening to someone only he could hear. John nearly gasped as he realized who that someone was. Then Randy spoke again. “Look, I admit those kids are going to be good, real good _if_ they can stay alive long enough to get the hang of this. But Hunter is still out there and when, not _IF_ , _WHEN_ he learns they are still alive, he will stop at nothing to get them. Do you really thing the two of them can take on Nexus, the Beast and Hunter without me? You can't just...” He was interrupted by some John couldn't hear. Then Randy snapped, “You're not protecting me! You're just making sure Hunter and the demons win!”

For a few seconds, the silence was broken by Randy's breathing. Obviously not liking what he was hearing, Randy snapped, “I don't care. It's my choice!” and stalked off. John waited a few moments, and then followed. At first he thought he had lost Randy in the dark, but a sudden flare of a match caught his eyes and he recognized Randy leaning against a tree lighting a cigarette. He walked over, pulling his jacket tighter around him to ward off the damp chill in the air. “Don’t you sleep?” he asked Orton quietly. It was so still and so silent it felt wrong to disturb it.

Randy must have felt the same because he answered in the same soft, low tone. “Nope, they get the drop on you when your eyes are closed.” He took a drag off the cigarette and exhaled. Benoit had opened the prison wagon and attacked them during the hour of the wolf, while he and Ted had slept. Cody had been on watch, not knowing Benoit already had the key…

For long moments they stood together in silence, just watching the east become slowly brighter bit by bit. A mule deer walked by, large ears flicking at them then disappeared into the forest. Eventually John shifted his weight, his legs feeling stiff and cold. “What was that about?” John asked dragging Randy's attention back to him. Seeing Randy looking at him sideways, he clarified his question. “You were arguing with the Saint of Killers.”

“Just a difference of opinion is all,” Randy shrugged. The marshal didn’t need to know about family squabbles.

“If the Saint cuts you off like he's threatening to, what are you going to do?”

“That's not your business, Cena.” Randy drawled, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Out east you may be a famous US Marshal but here you're just another walking dead man.”

John’s mouth tightened but he didn’t back down. He tried a different tact. “It looked to me like you've handed the fight off to the kids. Has the Saint cut you off already?” John flat-out asked, even though he was sure the younger man was going to tell him to fuck off, to mind his own business, or even just walk away.

But Randy surprised him. It had been a long time since Randy had a conversation with someone whom he might have considered an equal if his life had gone differently. And this man, this John Cena, who represented everything Randy had ever wanted but had been brutally denied, seemed like he was genuinely a good person. “Not yet, but he's going to,” he admitted.

“Why?” John asked.

“He thinks that if the damage to my soul doesn't get any worse I can still move on to the afterlife, as if I give a shit about that,” Randy snorted. John didn't know what to say to that, but he had another question. “What is the Beast?” John asked, remembering Randy's list of enemies in the area.

Randy grew serious. “It's another demon on its way here. It’s very powerful.”

“But you guys can just kill it with the Colt Walkers, right?” John didn't understand why a single demon would be a bother someone who wielded the Angel of Death's own sword.

“Normally, it wouldn't be a problem,” Randy agreed. “But this one is being escorted by a US Marshal.”

That shut John up briefly. He wiped a hand over his face. “Christ. Do you know who the marshal is?” John asked concerned. Yesterday morning he had no idea about demons, and now it seemed like the world was full of them. And the marshals seemed to up to their ears in it.

“Yep, it’s my old pal Dave Batista. Him and Ric Flair were my mentors before Benoit.”

“Shit,” John swore softly. “Is he in on Hunter’s schemes?”

“Fuck if I know, but it doesn't matter,” Randy replied. “Batista follows Hunter’s orders and he killed Edge. That situation will be addressed.”

“You said Batista was a friend once,” John reminded him. “Doesn’t it bother you to kill him?”

Randy gave him an unreadable look. ““I kill people, John. That's what I do. I've done it for so long that I don't even know how many people I've killed. If the war taught me anything, it taught me that human life is cheap. Whether it’s by my hand or someone else's, death is as much a part of this life as living is. Sometimes the best thing you can hope for is to die quickly.” Randy said.

John shivered at Randy’s words. “Damn,” he muttered softly. “You really are cold-blooded, aren’t you? You’re not scared of going to hell for killing someone who is just doing their job and may be innocent?” John asked. “Or have you just accepted the fact you’re going to hell no matter what?”

“If I do end up going to hell, why do you care?” Randy snapped at John, impatient and perplexed.

“I don't.” John said, angry at Orton for being such a callous bastard, and for being right. He was angry that he was going to die, and there was fuck-all he could do about it. It wasn't really Randy whom he was mad at, but Randy was the nearest target. “If I had my way, I would arrest you and see you hang for the cold-blooded killer you are. But I can't do that. Because I know what you are, and you are only one of three men that can save the world. And I hate the fact that a guy like you, who should spend the rest of his life in a jail, has to remain free so the rest of us won't be taken over by demons.” Orton was glaring at him. He was opening his mouth to say something but John cut him off.

“No! Don't say anything! But you know what really pisses me off? That I can't even hate you because I see what you're going through, and I see what you do and I know the price you are paying. I know that you will die alone and despised and your only reward will be an eternity of damnation and torment in hell,” John said quietly. “And even I know you don't deserve that.”

Rolling his eyes Randy growled, “You have no idea who I am and what I deserve, Cena. The world I live in is very different from yours. The rules are different, and so are the rewards.”

“So what is your reward?” John asked.

An eternity of nothingness. Even though the Saint had told Randy he wouldn’t allow it to get that far. That he would refuse to let him destroy his soul, to allow him to be condemned to fate worse than hell. And even now there were such large, gaping holes filled only with hollow emptiness it scared him. But that fear was far outweighed by his rage at the continuing existence of demons in his world. He had watched, helpless as Ted and Cody were tortured and sacrificed, as he felt the bullet burning deep in his guts, as Benoit carved his mark across Randy’s shoulders with his acid blood. Sheer hatred surged through his veins every time he encountered a demon. He wasn’t kidding when he told Roman he would kill every damned demon he had come across. After Benoit, Randy was willing to pay any price to exterminate demons as payback for Ted and Cody.

Any price, including his immortal soul.

And now with the imminent arrival of the Beast, Randy knew the two boys would be overwhelmed if he didn’t help them. But Randy didn't say any of what he was thinking. Instead he simply said “I get to kill demons.”

“Until you can't,” John reminded him.

Randy stayed silent.

“Are you getting close?” John persisted as if he could read Randy’s thoughts. “How many more demons do you think you can kill before you're cut off?”

Randy didn’t look at John. “Maybe one or two,” he confessed. But the fate of his soul was secondary to his need for vengeance. Unfortunately the Saint had disagreed violently with that sentiment and was serious in his threat to stop allowing Randy use of the Colt Walkers, which would be disastrous. As if Randy needed another reason to despise him.

John whistled in amazement. “Fuck. And there are how many Nexus left? Six? And a new demon that’s on its way too? I know you care about those kids in there, don’t deny it. But don’t you care about what’s happening to you?” he asked unknowing arguing the Saint’s point, which annoyed Randy.

“It doesn’t matter,” Randy snapped then stopped and took a deep breath. He changed the subject. “But since you seem to be so interested, do you know of another way we can win? Hunter has too many resources. He’s taking us out faster than the Saint can bring in new recruits.” He glanced at the cabin and for a brief instant John saw the desperation Randy usually kept very well hidden. “I can’t keep them alive.”

For the first time since he’d met Orton, John realized just how much was resting on Randy’s shoulders. He could see past the cloak of arrogance and indifference and saw the raw helplessness. John couldn’t imagine what the man had to deal with on a daily basis. “You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to try to kill you or those kids in there,” John assured him. “But is it really that hard to get new recruits?” he asked. “I would think if people knew what was going on, some of them would be willing to help. I mean, could I volunteer?” Though it terrified him if he were honest with himself, John was willing to become one of them. He saw what they were fighting and the price they were forced to pay, but he wasn’t a coward.

Randy cocked his head to the side as he considered John. “Have you ever taken the life another human being, John?” he asked. John shook his head, no he hadn't. Out east was a much more civilized place. With surprising patience Randy explained, “You have to be a killer to even have a chance at this job. Oh I know, there are a lot of people out there who have killed thanks to the war, so why doesn't he recruit them? Because here is the crucial question: if _you_ killed another human being, would you ever regret it? Taking a life is no small matter to most people. And if you did have regrets then you aren’t of any use to him. I don't regret what I did, Reigns and Ambrose don't either. Because it is our nature: _we are killers_. Now, he’s called the Saint of Killers for a reason: you have to pray to him, but not for forgiveness. You have to be praying to continue living so you can go on killing. That's not so hard though, right? Except you need to be dying violently while you pray before he'll answer you and make his offer. Now how many people do you think actually do that?”

“Not many, I imagine,” John answered.

Randy nodded. “Damned few. Most people are more concerned about what happens to them after they die. It takes a special individual to want to continue living in order to continue killing. And even then you’re not guaranteed he will answer you.”

It was light now so he could see John's expression, and the steep stipulations of the Saint's contract opened John's eyes to the odds against anyone becoming a demon killer. “Christ,” John muttered.

Randy nodded. “Sorry John, but that's the way it works. I really wouldn’t recommend deliberately attempting to enter into an agreement with the Saint. Even if you wanted to, chances are extremely unlikely you could ever become one of us. ”

John didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved at Randy’s words. The Saint of Killers himself would only ever speak directly to John once. He sighed. “Okay then, but I was serious in offering my help. I want my death to mean something.”

Smiling his slow, unlikely grin as the sun cleared the horizon Randy said, “If we’re lucky, it will mean we won.”

TBC

_Hey everyone! Legend Killer has a beta reader! So huge, huge thank you to Kiss 316 for reading this over and over (and over)._


	9. Chapter 9

**Legend Killer 9**

_A big, huge thank you to kiss316 for asking questions, pointing out flaws, and being awesome in general._

_Warnings: Swearing and violence, implied sexual violence_

For the first time since he entered the human world, Husky Harris felt nervous. He had heard from the other Nexus members about what happened at the jail yesterday afternoon. As a result he could not stop looking over his shoulder as he hurried through the streets, even though he wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for. He had no idea what Randy Orton physically looked like and given the guy’s well-earned reputation of striking from out of nowhere, Harris wasn't even sure he would see it coming. On top of that, the news of another one of the Saint of Killers’ guys (they really needed to come up with a better name for them, he would be sure to ask for suggestions at the next regular Nexus meeting) had been captured, but somehow managed to escape _and_ kill the three newest Nexus members made Husky _very_ nervous. And he didn't like that. Too many times the Saint’s men were there, killing off his brothers, stymieing the Nexus’s plans. That needed to end, pronto.

Of course Wade had been furious to learn about Tarver, Young and Sheffield. It had taken only a matter of seconds for their number to be reduced by a third. It was Garnet mining town starting all over again. The only saving grace this time was Nexus wasn’t hiding in the soft bodies of woman and children. That had been a costly mistake as Randy Orton apparently had no issues with killing either, as it turned out. Barrett vowed he would gut Orton and choke him with his own intestines when they finally captured the man and Harris sincerely wished him luck.

The urge to take out his fear and frustration on passers-by was nearly overwhelming but Wade had strictly forbidden both himself and Michael McGillicutty from drawing attention to themselves. The other members could kill for pleasure if they used caution as they had ‘authority’, but not a banker and a mayor’s aide. They just needed to control themselves for a little while longer, then Wade promised they could go wild. It had been too long since Husky had feasted on the flesh of an innocent.

Harris knew he was late to his duty as the mayor's aide as he entered the brand new courthouse. The human obsession with time always irritated him. The brick building was nearly completed, only some last finishing touches were required. Like doorknobs. And glass for the windows. Those items needed to be shipped in from out east. The anticipation of Helena becoming the next capital had sparked a fervor of building in the young city. There was talk of plans for a permanent capital building being drafted for the inevitable statehood. The territorial government and all its members would be coming. That meant lots of important humans would be visiting.

And the Nexus would be waiting.

Husky smiled at the thought of the mayor becoming a member of Nexus. It was the only thing preventing him from flaying the man alive. He hated playing subservient to humans, especially that one. There was something not quite right about him, even for a human. In fact if Harris didn't know better he would swear the mayor was some sort of demon but that was impossible. He had no idea what the mayor was and that scared Harris all the more. With Orton and his buddy in the area, he knew the Nexus had to be very cautious. In the meantime he was to keep an eye on the mayor and anyone else who was considered important enough to warrant the Nexus’ attention.

As he entered the mayor’s office, the man was already there frowning with impatience. “Is something the matter, Harris?” Mayor Shawn Michaels asked, looking up at Husky from his desk with the sparkling blue green eyes and golden hair. He was wearing his usual light jacket. His strange smile always hovering on the edge of his lips made it seem like he was constantly mocking the person he was speaking to. “You seem to be running a bit late.” He returned to making notes on some papers on his desk while he waited for Harris’ answer.

_No shit, you pompous jackass_. “Sorry sir. I was just getting information from Michael McGillicutty about the fire at the bank yesterday,” Husky replied, trying to not glare at the human and rip its head from its body. His closed his fists behind his back. But Harris would be the first to admit the human was very intelligent and had an almost preternatural charisma. Hence, being the mayor of the next capital of the Montana territory.

“And just what did Mr. McGillicutty have to say?” the mayor asked, not looking up from whatever document he was reading. He didn't see the brief look of fear in his aide’s expression when Mayor Michaels asked the question.

He couldn’t tell Michaels the truth. “A lantern,” Harris replied a bit too forcefully. That made Michaels glance up and Harris calmed himself, and then went on. “The fire was started by a lantern tipping over.”

“Hmm” the mayor said. “Seems rather strange he would have a lit lantern in the bank, being that it was broad daylight and all,” he observed. Harris sweated a bit more. But Michaels shrugged. “Oh well. What’s done is done. That will be all, Mr. Harris.” He waited until Harris had turned around and started walking toward the door when he said, “Oh, one last thing Mr. Harris. I heard something about an incident at the jail yesterday. Three people were murdered and a prisoner escaped. Do you happen to know anything about that?”

Harris was now sweating in earnest, despite the cool morning air. “No, Mr. Mayor,” he said. The last thing he needed was for Michaels to get involved with anything having to do with Orton and the Nexus.

No longer smiling Michaels stared at him long enough to make Harris squirm. “When you find out something, be sure to let me know immediately. A rumor about torture and executions involving our law enforcement could cause people to not trust the authority and we can’t have that, especially with the territorial government on its way. Am I being clear Mr. Harris?” Shawn asked, deadly serious.

“Yes, sir,” Husky answered, his teeth clenched tight. He changed the subject. “Do we have a date yet?” He knew Michaels and Judge Hunter were long-time friends and corresponded frequently. Harris suspected it was Michaels who had pulled some strings in getting the government to consider Helena as the next seat of power.

“Not yet. The governor is in Washington DC, but I expect the Judge and his staff will be arriving any day now. You are dismissed Mr. Harris. I will let you know when I require your assistance.”

Harris didn’t quite run from the mayor’s office. Once out of sight, he couldn't hold back the sneer of hatred. He needed to kill something desperately to calm his nerves and he cursed Wade for the hundredth time that morning. There was always the threat of marshals investigating, but Barrett seemed to be more concerned about a detective agency out east called the Pinkertons. Harris was so caught up in his thoughts about the mayor he didn’t see the man standing in the lobby at first. He nearly skidded to halt when he saw it was the deputy marshal who had accompanied John Cena, and disappeared with him from the jail.

This was one of the humans Nexus was desperately searching for. Not only had they lost three of their members, two of the Saint’s men and Cena had gotten away. Wade _just knew_ Cena’s deputy was involved somehow, and berated Otunga and Slater for ignoring the man, never minding that Barrett himself had done the same. If Wade ever got his hands on that kid…well Deputy Rollins’ outlook on life would be very different.

And now here he was, in the flesh and within Husky Harris’ reach.

“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to project an air of friendliness, but seeing the look of disgust on the deputy’s face he knew he wasn't quite succeeding. He just couldn't seem to get the hang of acting like a human.

Deputy Rollins looked around as if to make sure they were alone. He then beckoned Harris over and said in a low voice. “I need to talk to the mayor. It’s important.”

“The mayor is busy and asked not to be disturbed,” Harris replied smoothly. “What is this about?”

The deputy abruptly leaned back and got a funny look on his face, like he smelled something rotten. But he replied to Harris anyway. “It’s about the sheriff.”

Now it was Harris’ turn to look around the room to make sure it was empty. “What about him?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Sheriff Barrett is dirty,” Rollins said bluntly. “I caught him and his deputies torturing a prisoner yesterday and then three civilians were killed in the jail. I need to tell the mayor and inform my superiors.”

This could get bad. The mayor wasn't under Nexus control, despite Harris’ best efforts. And if word of this got out right before the territorial government came into town, the shit would really hit the fan. He could see the governor calling for a full investigation on Barrett and the Nexus deputies. Harris put on an adequately concerned (he hoped) face, his thoughts racing. “The mayor knows about it already but he just told me that he doesn't want anyone, especially the governor to find out. I think he’s working with the sheriff.” Harris looked around. “Where is Marshal Cena? Why isn't he here?” he asked, stalling.

“He’s still investigating a lead about the outlaw Randy Orton. But something’s wrong with him too. He’s acting strange,” Rollins admitted. “Is there a doctor in town?”

“Yes, I’ll show you where his office is,” Harris offered. The deputy smiled. Perfect. Now all he needed to do was get rid of Rollins and grab Cena. He knew Wade was looking for Cena somewhere up in the mountains, which was odd if Cena was still here in town, but Harris wasn't going to question his luck.

He followed the deputy out the door. When he got the deputy alone, the kid would have a sudden and fatal case of having his face shoved through a brick wall. Nearly salivating at the thought of being able to finally kill something, Harris followed Rollins around to the side of the courthouse towards the back, cutting through the narrow alley in the direction of boarding house. As soon as they were out of sight of the general public, Husky grabbed the deputy by the back of his neck and lifted him up easily. The deputy struggled to get free of his grip, but a mere human could never match a demon’s strength. Harris was just starting to leverage himself to slam the kid face first into the side of the brick building when something hit him on the back of his shoulders with the force of a freight train. Harris dropped the deputy who immediately scrambled of the way, looking up at something over Husky’s shoulder like he was expecting it.

Like he knew what was happening….

Oh shit.

Husky threw his weight backwards, trying to unbalance to man who had hit him so hard, then spun around, swinging his arm like a sledge hammer. The dark-haired man ducked and took a half a step back, winding up with an uppercut of his own, catching Harris under the jaw. Harris slammed against the brick wall of the courthouse, brand new bricks crumbling around him from the force. He shook his head and stood up, breathing hard. He glared at the human who matched his demon strength. “Orton, I presume?” he growled, eyes turning black. The demon had started overshadowing the human disguise.

“No,” the man said and head-butted Harris, his long black hair flying. Harris saw stars and shook his head, fury and fear in his eyes. He kicked the man in the stomach, doubling him over briefly. Harris moved in to take advantage of his opponent’s vulnerability but in his haste he had forgotten about the deputy. He remember quickly enough when a large rock slammed into his head, drawing his attention long enough for the long-haired man to recover and drive a heavy boot into Harris’ knee. There was a loud _snap_ and an unbalanced Harris was down on the ground. He was on his hands and knee, snarling up at the long-haired man when the man kicked him in the head, once, twice and a third time, breaking his neck. Harris went down, but he wasn't dead. A heavy weight pressed down on his back, holding him still.

“Get the handcuffs on this fucker,” he heard the deep voice say. He could feel his arms being forced behind his back and fastened together with steel. He growled and tugged at them. The cuffs bent under the strain but they held. “We damage the body anymore, the demon will break free.”

“I don’t remember you being so strong,” Seth said, breathing hard and rubbing his neck. He figured there would be bruising on it later.

Roman shrugged. “The Saint gives us his strength when he recruits us,” he said. “It helps even out the odds when we have to go toe-to-toe with these sons of bitches.” Seth remembered how easily Randy had picked up Dean while he had struggled with Roman. Roman glanced over at Seth. “You okay?” he asked.

Seth nodded, but he was sweating a bit. That had been too close. He mentally revised his knowledge of demons from ‘very fast’ and ‘very strong’ to ‘very, very fast’ and ‘very, very strong’. “Thanks to you. Let’s get out of here before someone sees us,” he said and Roman picked up Harris. The demon was stunned but it would recover soon. They needed to get out of sight so they could dispose of it without witnesses.

Neither of them noticed the mayor silently watching everything from an open window above them.

“Think Orton will have any problems?” Roman asked as they left the alley. His horse was tethered nearby and it gave them a sour look as Roman and Seth slung the body of Husky Harris over its back.

“Not unless he deviates from the plan,” Seth said. He pulled out a cloth and stuffed it into Harris’ mouth. There were people walking by, but when they saw Seth’s badge they just assumed Harris had been resisting an officer of the law, just like Seth knew they would. Roman took the reins and led the horse and their prisoner away from the courthouse, with Seth walking beside him. “I can't believe the Saint is going to cut him off.”

“I can,” Roman said. Seeing Seth look at him, Roman shrugged. “I think the Saint genuinely cares about us even if he’s got his own priorities. Of course Orton doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t give a shit about anything except for revenge. I don’t know the history between those two, but they’re both stubborn to the point of being dangerous.”

“Not like you and Dean, who are always so reasonable to deal with,” Seth said with a touch of sarcasm. “Stubborn seems to be a common denominator with you guys.”

Roman snorted but he couldn't disagree. “Let’s just get this guy out of here before the rest of Nexus finds us,” he said.

Down near the gulch, Michael McGillicutty was still ascertaining the damage to the bank. The bank was closed for time being because the brick building’s dry wood furniture and floor had caught fire quickly, causing substantial damage to the interior. Luckily they were able to fill buckets easily from the torrential rain and with the help of Barrett, the deputies and other volunteers they had put out the fire before the bank had sustained too much structural damage. But there was still a large, badly burned area in the middle of the lobby and Barrett had told him that it probably had been Orton who had started it. McGillicutty had to admit that the thought of Orton being so close had him nervous. Barrett had assured him that Otunga would be nearby if he needed help in dealing with Randy Orton when the man showed up again. However Otunga had gone out to check on Harris, leaving McGillicutty alone in the bank. He locked the doors just to be safe.

As he waited for Otunga, McGillicutty was seriously giving thought to pulling in a random passerby for a bit of torture and murder, just to keep himself distracted. The bank’s walls were nice and thick, and hid screams of terror and agony nicely. He looked up at the sound of knocking at the door, seeing a silhouette of a person through the barred window. He went over to the thick oak door and saw the sun glinting off a round badge with a star in the center. It was the US Marshal.

He took out his keys and unlocked the heavy locks on the door. Wade had determined Cena would be the key to Nexus’ spreading world-wide, but he had disappeared with the Saint’s men while Barrett and the others were helping him try to put out the fire and save the bank. McGillicutty smiled as he opened the door and motioned for the Marshal to come on it.

“Marshal,” he greeted the man who walked in. The man’s sharp blue eyes swept the lobby of the bank, noting the scorched area and black ash. McGillicutty closed the door again, locking it up.

“I take it you work here,” the marshal stated, looking at McGillicutty like he was something that needed to be scraped from the bottom of his boots.

Irritated, McGillicutty nodded. “I run the bank. Michael McGillicutty at your service,” he said not bothering to disguise his scorn. Stupidly, some humans always thought they were better than others, not realizing they were all on the lower end of the food chain.

The marshal didn’t seem to care. “Did you see what happened?” he asked, still looking around.

“No,” McGillicutty answered. “All I know was that a fire started in the lobby while I was…elsewhere.” Of course he had been at the jail, while Barrett and the others were torturing the Saint’s man. He hadn’t actually witnessed the interrogation itself or seen Cena, who had been out of sight at the back of the room. McGillicutty had been assigned the lobby to ensuring no one accidentally wandered in. But then that annoying deputy marshal had barged right by with the news that the bank was in fire.

The marshal stalked slowly through the lobby, not turning his back to McGillicutty. “McGillicutty,” he said, crouching down to look at the burned area closer. “Are there any other McGillicuttys in the area?” he asked.

“No,” McGillicutty said, now getting seriously irritated with the man and his questions. “What is this about?”

“So it was you who was at the jail yesterday when the sheriff was torturing that prisoner? He shouted your name.”

Surprised, McGillicutty paused. Barrett had bellowed his name along with Slater and Otunga when he was ordering them to get to the bank. And Cena had heard that. Putting two and two together, McGillicutty dropped the pretense of being human. “Do you have any idea of what you are dealing with, human?” he asked, a sick smile spread across his ‘face’.

The marshal stood, up cool as a cucumber with his hand on his gun. “You tell me, McGillicutty. It looks to me like you are working with a dirty sheriff. I’m going to have to bring you in.”

McGillicutty pretended to be scared for a second, but he couldn't hold the pretext for very long. He laughed. “Oh marshal, you are a fucking stupid fool to come here, you know that right?” Eyes narrowed in anger, the marshal started to draw his gun, but McGillicutty barked out, “Don’t move!”

The marshal froze; hand on the butt of his gun, his eyes wide.

McGillicutty smiled a predator’s smile. “Yes, I’m one of _them_ too,” he purred, noting the marshal’s furious blue eyes were blazing. “Barrett’s out looking for you,” he said, stepping nearer to the marshal. He could see the man trembling slightly, hating his proximity and helplessness, fighting the influence of the Nexus. “And soon you will be one of us. But first, we’ll have some fun.” He backhanded the marshal across the face, hard enough to whip his head to the side. His cheek was white for an instant before turning an angry red under his tanned skin. The man took a shaky breath, but couldn’t fight what the Nexus had done to him.

“Don’t look so mad,” McGillicutty chided. “You will eventually be one of us, or at least your body will. But before that, we will do so many things to you.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “We can make you do anything and you will be helpless to stop us.”

The marshal looked at him in hatred so intense that McGillicutty felt a small stab of fear. But he shook it off. The marshal was only a human and no threat to him. Just to prove it to himself, he curled his hand into a fist and drove it deep into the marshal’s stomach. The man’s jaws clenched as he curled forward, arms folding over his abdomen. But the hatred in his pale blue eyes never wavered.

Determined to replace that look with fear, McGillicutty continued. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that. But you see marshal, you can’t defend yourself from us. We will beat you bloody and there is nothing you can do about it. We will sacrifice children in front of you, and they will cry and beg you for help but you won't be able to anything except stand there and watch! And, this is my favorite part, you will service the entire Nexus,” he paused, letting the implications sink in. Seeing the man’s horror, he laughed. “Oh yes, before you become one of us, _you will be with all of us._ I imagine some of them would want a go at you at least a couple of times. I know I will.” McGillicutty grinned at the marshal’s trembling with rage. He was getting through.

A knocking on the door distracted McGillicutty from his tormenting. He sensed a familiar presence outside and smiled at the marshal. “It looks like one of my brothers is joining us. Get ready to, how do the humans say it? 'be ridden hard and put away wet'.”

McGillicutty turned to go open the door just as a hand seized his collar from behind and threw him bodily across the room. Stunned, McGillicutty saw the marshal glaring down at him. He was confused at first, then he realized. “You’re not Cena,” he gasped in terror.

“No shit,” the man wearing the marshal’s badge growled right before he pulled out the biggest revolver McGillicutty had ever seen and pulled the trigger.

“What the fuck was that?” Seth demanded when Randy let them in. “You were supposed to wait for us so Roman could kill them both at the same time. God dammit!” Seth was furious that Randy had deviated from the plan. With Randy's limited ability to kill demons, Seth had determined that Roman would do the bulk of the killing, leaving Randy to be available if the shit hit the fan.

Randy just glared at Seth, who huffed in aggravation. “Listen, from now on you need to follow the plan, because if you don't, Roman could get hurt and I won't allow that to happen, you hear me?” Behind him, Roman snorted but kept his mouth shut.

“Let’s get this over with,” Randy snarled, still shaking with rage.

Reigns nodded and pulled out a Colt Walker. Taking a second to aim at the terrified Harris, Reigns pulled the trigger and the Nexus’ number was down by two. Randy caught Reigns as he slumped to the ground and carried him over to the other side of the lobby, away from the demons’ corpses.

As they waited for Roman to recover, Seth watched Randy pace in agitation around the room. “What happened?” he asked, his earlier anger at Randy faded as he looked closer at Orton.

Randy just shook his head. “Fucker talked too much,” he replied.

Seth didn't ask any more about it but he could see the red mark clearly on Randy’s cheek. The smell of smoke hung in the air as Randy continued to pace. He kicked McGillicutty’s corpse as he walked by. Not satisfied, he kicked it again. And again. He kept kicking it until Seth shouted at him. “Snap out of it, Orton! What the hell is going with you?” He stopped and glared at Seth, breathing hard.

“Feel better?” Seth asked, sarcastically. Randy was starting to concern him with his erratic behavior. “Are you going spare on me Orton? Because if so, I need to know, now,” he said, looking out the window. No one even glanced at the closed bank as the townsfolk walked by outside. The attorney-at-law across the street was arriving at his small office. His name was Paul Heyman, according to the sign on his door.

“No,” Randy said through gritted teeth, unable to calm down. He could feel himself still shaking. Nearby, the Saint watched, his face impassive. Randy hated him more than ever in that moment. The memories McGillicutty had resurrected had pushed themselves to the front of his mind and he was having a hard time pushing them back. He stopped kicking the corpse, but he still paced in agitation.

Worried, Seth shook his head. “Look, you know we needed a way to get to McGillicutty. Cena was the only human he would let near him. I’m sorry that it sucked, but whatever he said to you, it’s just words. You can’t let it get to you.”

Randy had understood Seth's plan and had agreed to play the part. But he hadn’t realized being so near the demon and having to stand still and listen to that crap from McGillicutty would take more self-control than anything he had to deal with.

“Can you tell if there are there any other Nexus in the area?” Seth asked abruptly, trying to get Randy's attention on something else. Whatever had gone on between Orton and McGillicutty was over and he needed Randy to focus. Drawing a deep breath, Randy walked to the window and scanned the area.

“There might be one,” he said, frowning. He could feel…something. It didn't feel exactly like the Nexus, but something was definitely out there. “Think you can you lure it in here?”

Seth looked over at Roman who hadn’t stirred yet. “Are you able to kill it?” he countered. If the Saint followed through with his threat to cut Randy off now, he didn't want to be trapped in the bank with a demon. Randy could still fight but his ability to kill was now in question.

Randy looked over at the Saint. “Well old man?” The Saint had been with him the entire time, watching silently as Randy stood in front of the demon and played helpless. His presence was the only reason Randy hadn't snapped earlier than he did. “What do you say?”

The Saint of Killers was frowning at Randy and with a shake of his head said, ‘ _Sorry son, but the answer is no. You're cut off.’_

TBC

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Legend Killer 10**

_Warnings: Angst, swearing and violence, attempted suicide_

The Saint of Killers was frowning at Randy and with a shake of his head said, ‘ _Sorry son, but the answer is no. You're cut off.’_

Face pale with rage and shock, Randy could only protest, “You can't do that to me!”

‘ _I just did._ ’

“Fuck you old man!” Randy snarled.

The Saint glared but instead of responding, he disappeared. That enraged Randy even more. He picked up a chair and hurled it at the wall where the Saint had stood mere seconds before. Pieces of the chair went everywhere. Seth didn’t need to be told what the answer was. Glancing nervously at Roman who was still out cold, he tried to calm Randy down. “Okay, it’s not a big deal. It’s fine. We just move on to plan b.”

Randy shook his head but instead of answering, he braced his hands against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing through gritted teeth. He curled his hands into fists and began to beat on the wall, biting down hard on a scream of rage. He had been cut off. He couldn’t believe the Saint had done that to him. And now the hot rage that had burned in his veins for so long was icy with shock and terror.

He was vulnerable and it wouldn’t take very long before his enemies figured it out.

Seth watched him warily. As enraged as Randy was, Seth wasn’t certain Orton wouldn’t attack _him_. But he kept his hand away from his gun despite the instinct to draw it to protect himself and Roman. He didn’t need Orton to think Seth didn’t trust him, (which he didn’t, truth be told but Orton didn’t need to know it _right then_.) “It’s fine,”he said again. “Roman can handle this until Dean is back on his feet and then we’ll finish this. Just, _calm down_.”

But Seth’s words only reminded Randy others were doing _his_ job, denying him _his_ vengeance. Without those things the reasons for him existing were wiped out. He had one option left. He pulled one of his Smith and Wesson's out of its holster and contemplated it. It was only way to ensure the demons could never get to him again. He raised the gun to his temple; a bullet trembled in its dark nest.

Then Seth was there, grabbing his wrist in both hands and getting right up in his face. “Orton, what the fuck are you doing? What the hell is going on with you? Talk to me!” he half demanded half pleaded, trying to stay calm. Seth’s face was white and his eyes were huge but his voice was steady. He had learned from being friends with Dean that it was vital to not freak out around a highly volatile personality. Roman was a rock, but Randy was like Dean, unpredictable and unstable. Whatever the Saint had said to Randy had pushed him over the edge.

“He cut me off. I can’t kill them anymore,” Randy said as if in a dream. “But I can make sure I die on my terms, not theirs.” He tried to pull his wrist away from Seth, who refused to let go despite Randy's much greater strength.

Oddly, this was something Seth could understand. But that didn’t mean he agreed. Using his weight as leverage, he pressed Randy’s back against the wall, desperately trying to think of an argument to convince Randy this was not the best solution. Not yet at least. “Listen to me Orton, we need you. Roman and Dean need _you._ You are the only one in the world with the experience to teach us what we need to know. If you die, we will too. Then so will the rest of the world.”

“Fuck the rest of the world! Never again! I _won’t_ go through what happened with Benoit again, do you hear me?” Randy replied, almost frantic at the thought, struggling against Seth’s weight pinning him to the wall. _Cody’s lungs expanding as he inhaled the cool morning air. The blood eagle flexed its wings once then was still. Ted knowing he was next begged Randy to kill him. But the bullet burned in his guts and the terrible weight on his back held him pinned to the ground, the smell of grass and dew in his nostrils…_ “I’ll die before that happens.”

Seth jerked on his wrist, still trying to gain control of the gun but he couldn't match Randy's strength. “This is not the solution,” he argued. “Sure, they’re strong but if we all work together, you, me, Dean and Roman, maybe even John, we can beat them. You’re still strong, and you can still see them. John can’t. _I can’t._ But if you kill yourself now how long do you think the rest of us have? A day? A week? How long before Hunter takes us out? We need you,” he said again, praying Randy would listen to him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Randy fought against the panic. He took a deep breath, then a second one. He opened his eyes and stared directly into Seth’s, inches away. His gaze slid over to Roman, who was still unconscious. He hadn’t been able to protect Ted and Cody, or Jack.

Or even Edge…

“I’m so tired of this shit,” he confessed, his strength fading as did the rage and fear, leaving a numbness behind. Dimly, Randy was thankful Roman hadn't witnessed his breakdown.

Squelching down on a surge of hope and relief Seth nodded. “I know, but you’re not alone, not anymore. Just…believe in us.”

Slowly, Randy released the grip on his gun and Seth took it and stuffed it in his belt. He stepped back a step to give Randy some space. He was still scared but as always he did a remarkable job of hiding it. He made one last calculated move to ensure Orton stayed with them for a little while longer. “I understand what you’re going through.” Seeing Randy’s skeptical look, Seth smiled. It felt stiff on his face as he remembered the dark and the singing. “Dean, Roman and I may have survived Carcosa, but I don’t think I could face going through it again,” he confessed with total honesty. “Tell you what. I promise you I will kill you myself before I let them get you, if you make me the same promise.”

Eyes wide, Randy looked at him for long seconds before nodding jerkily.

Feeling a bit guilty about manipulating Orton like that, Seth reached a hand out to Randy and they shook, sealing their agreement. Now it was time to get productive again. “Alright here’s what we’re going to do. You get rid of the bodies. Then head back to the cabin and check on Dean. Roman and I will track down any Nexus still here in town and finish them. Then we’ll join you and Dean and figure out our next step.”

Randy swallowed. He knew Seth was trying to distract him. He looked over at Roman again, then away. “Right,” he said.

Both of them were startled by a knocking on the door and they instinctively reached for their weapons. Seth glanced at Randy who still looked like he could come unglued at any moment. The person knocked again, this time more insistently. It was obvious whomever it was wasn’t going away. Growling under his breath, Seth unlocked and opened the door only to come face to face with Mayor Shawn Michaels, who had been raising his hand to knock again.

Thinking so quickly it bordered on instinct, Seth slipped out the door and closed it firmly behind him before Michaels could see the blood and bodies inside. “The bank is still closed,” he said, staring almost challengingly into Michaels’ eyes. Dammit he did not have time for this!

Michaels smiled an eerie, thin-lipped smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Deputy Marshal. I’m Mayor Shawn Michaels,” the man introduced himself and offered his hand to shake. His accent placed him from the deep South.

Trying rein in his impatience, Seth took his hand and nodded. “US Deputy Marshal Seth Rollins,” he replied, relying on his title to subtly remind the mayor that marshals held final authority over the local officials, even mayors. “What can I do for you, Mayor?” he asked, thoughts still speeding a hundred miles per hour trying to figure out ways to keep this situation from going to hell, and to improvise if it did. All the time he kept his ears peeled for the sound of a gunshot from inside.

“I came to check on the status of the bank. We need to open it soon.” Michaels squinted at Seth as if he were trying to see inside of his mind.

Seth wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, not after dealing with both Mark and Hunter, and a suicidal Randy Orton. “We are investigating the fire,” he said. “There is a rumor it was started by an outlaw. The same one Judge Hunter sent us to bring in.”

“Oh? My aide informed me the banker told him it was an accident,” Michaels answered with a slight raising of an eyebrow.

Seth tried to figure out exactly what it was about Michaels that was making him uncomfortable. There was something off about this guy. “Like I said, it may be it’s just a rumor, but we need to be thorough in our investigation. This outlaw is very dangerous.” And said outlaw was right on the other side of the door trying not to have a nervous breakdown. He hoped Roman’s presence would prevent Randy from another attempt to end his life. “We will need a little more time to determine if this is a crime scene.” Seth told him, trying to control his unease. This man reminded him of Hunter in a way he couldn’t exactly put a finger on. A very unpleasant thought occurred to him and he really hoped Randy was keeping an eye on the situation.

“We need to get the bank opened as soon as possible. Lots of gold to put in there. Lots of people who want their pay. What do we need to do to get that done?” Michaels asked, sounding like the consummate politician.

“Give us a little more time and it’s all yours. You'll need to find some volunteers to help with the repairs in there. And is there anyone who can take over in the bank? It appears McGillicutty has left town.”

“That’s very surprising. I would have thought better of Mr. McGillicutty. I do hope he is able to return to us as quickly as possible.” Michaels replied, not looking either surprised or hopeful.

Seth gritted his teeth in aggravation. The man just wouldn’t go away. “The sooner you let me finish up in there, the sooner you can get started on getting your bank reopened,” he said as pointedly as he could without being rude. But if the man wouldn’t take the hint…

Michaels smiled his strange smile again and nodded in agreement. It made Seth twitch. “Of course, of course. Well I guess I should go start organizing then,” Michaels said. “It was good to meet you, Deputy Rollins.” He touched the brim of his hat at Seth and walked away.

Exhaling, Seth watched him until he was sure the man was truly gone and then he reentered the bank, making sure to lock the door again.

“What the hell was that?” Randy asked immediately. He was still a bit rattled from earlier and Seth's abrupt behavior didn't help settle his nerves.

“The mayor,” Seth replied. “Was he a demon?” He knew Roman would have told him right away, but he didn't trust Orton's mental state yet.

Surprised, Randy hesitated but shook his head, no. “I’m not sure what that was, but it wasn’t a demon.” The Saint was still gone so Randy couldn’t ask him, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Right,” Seth said. He hated not knowing all the variables, but he could plan for those too. He refocused on the task at hand. The mayor could wait until they finished dealing with Nexus. “Let’s get rid of these bodies.”

Randy’s horse was tied up around on the back of the bank next to Dean’s. Seth had been using Dean’s sorrel until he could get to the livery to retrieve his and John’s horses. He missed his paint. Dean’s horse could be as contrary as its rider and while Seth was an excellent horseman, he got a bit tired of constantly arguing with it about what direction he wanted the animal to go. Taking some burlap sacks from Seth's saddlebag, they put them over the heads of the two corpses, masking their identities from casual observers. They threw the bodies on Randy’s and Dean's horses and Randy, still wearing John Cena’s badge, led the horses and their cargo away to discreetly dump off somewhere they wouldn’t be found. Seth knew people would see the badge and not ask questions. It was amazing the level of trust people had for law enforcement and Randy himself was an expert at getting rid of bodies. Vultures didn’t eat demon corpses so they wouldn't give the bodies’ location away to passersby.

Meanwhile, Seth waited for Roman to wake up. Most of the blood had soaked into the black, burnt area of the floor. When it dried, it would be next to impossible to see and the floor needed to be replaced anyway. Seth was rather proud of how well the first part of his plan had gone. While he waited for Roman, he thought about Randy’s behavior. Of all the reactions to being cut off, Seth hadn’t seen this one coming. But now he felt he should have. What they had gone through with Abigail and if faced with the possibility of having to go relive it, Seth could see turning his gun on himself as an option. He made a mental note to watch out for Roman and Dean. His attention was drawn back to the present when Roman stirred and tried to sit up.

“I hate this,” Roman muttered. He succeeded in getting his back against the wall the second try. He braced his elbows against his knees and tried not to throw up.

“Would you rather trade places with Dean?” Seth asked dryly, earning himself a nasty look from Roman. Seth grinned sunnily. “Four more to go, then you can take a break.” He tried to sound encouraging. He handed Roman a canteen of water, who took it gratefully.

“Where’s Orton?” Roman asked as he looked around the bank, still working on getting his bearings.

“He’s getting rid of the bodies, and then going to check on Dean. While he’s gone you and I are going to track down the rest of Nexus here in town. ”

“Oh, joy,” Roman said. That wasn't part of the original plan but he had worked with Seth long enough to know Seth's plans were always fluid. He was good at rolling with whatever Seth decided was the way to go.

Seth wasn't sure how much to tell Roman about Randy, but he needed to know Randy had been cut off. Roman took the news as he usually did: stoically. “Yeah, I figured that was going to happen.”

Seth waited for him to elaborate, but Roman didn't say anything else. Instead, he gathered his strength and held out a hand to Seth, who pulled him to his feet. Roman wobbled a bit, but regained his equilibrium with a few deep breaths. “Let’s get this over with.”

Roman and Seth stopped at the livery next. Seth grabbed his and John's mounts, ponying John's bay mare behind his paint as they rode towards the jail. The sounds of mining grinders filled the air and would mask any screams or gunshots coming from the nearby jail nicely. The streets were still muddy from the rain the day before, but the sky was clear and air was cool. The true heat of summer hadn’t begun to settle in yet. “Are you ready?” Seth asked reining to a stop, mud splashing the horse's belly. He slid off the horse and tied it to the hitching post opposite the jail. Roman nodded, still looking a bit pale but otherwise okay. “This is where it was going to get exciting,” Seth said. He had tried to account for all the variables, but even he couldn't plan for everything.

As they approached, Roman was frowning. “They’re not in there,” he told Seth.

Scowling Seth hesitated but he said, “We should check anyway. There might be someone in there who knows where they are.”

Roman nodded and drew his revolver as he entered the jail. It was eerily quiet in there. Motes of dust danced in the sunlight coming through the barred windows. They searched the building. In the back room where Dean had been tortured, the rope still dangled from the rafters. Dried blood stained the floor but the bodies had been removed.

The jailhouse was empty.

Scowling, Roman asked Seth, “So where the fuck are they?”

“We knew this was a possibility,” Seth reassured him. The Nexus was too smart to be caught like sitting ducks at the jail. “They’ll be trying to leave town. The train hasn't come in yet so any Nexus trying to leave that way will be near the station.” Though he didn't say it out loud, it was more of a hope than a certainty. But Seth's words had their intended effect and Roman looked at him with complete trust.

“Okay, let’s start there,” Roman agreed, holstering his gun and exiting the jail.

God, he loved Roman. Nothing rattled the guy. “We’ll do a quick sweep of the town just to be sure there aren’t any Nexus hiding out, and end at the train station.”

“Do you think any have gone after John?” Roman asked.

Seth shrugged. “The rain last night wiped out our tracks so they wouldn’t be able to follow us very easily. Maybe one is out there, if any. But Dean can take care of them if they do.” He grinned. “I'm pretty sure Dean will thank us for giving him the opportunity to kill a Nexus member.”

“And if there is more than one?” Roman asked as they mounted up.

“That’s partly why I sent Orton up there. He may not be able to kill demons anymore, but he can still sense them and he’s handy in a fight,” Seth said, turning his horse up the street next to the gulch. “How far off can you sense them?” he asked Roman.

“About a block,” Roman said as he gathered up his reins and adjusted his hat.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

They trotted their mounts through the streets, side by side. The streets were fairly busy with foot and horse traffic, but not enough to impede them. As they neared the edge of town and the train station, Roman stiffened and he looked around as he pulled his black to a stop. Seth stopped his horse a few steps later. He waited patiently for Roman to identify what had caught his attention.

“Keep going,” Roman said remembering what Randy had taught him, nudging his horse back into a walk with his heels. Demons couldn't identify any to the Saint's acolytes unless they revealed themselves first. He pulled his hat down to hide his eyes as he continuously scanned the area. “There,” he said to Seth. “Only one though.”

Out of the corner of his eye Seth could see Otunga hiding in a shadow at the station. The train would be pulling in soon according to the schedule posted outside the building. He nodded at Roman and gestured for him to follow. He explained the plan to Roman as they walked out of sight.

David Otunga had felt his brothers die in rapid succession. He was supposed to watch out for both Harris and McGillicutty, but he had left McGillicutty secure in the bank to check on Harris, and then both were killed. With no other Nexus in town, Otunga figured it would be both wise and prudent to get the hell out of Dodge. He had never trusted horses, so he figured the train was his best option. Now he just needed the damned thing to get there before Orton or his buddy came along and killed him.

‘Do not draw attention. The human world is defended,’ Wade had told them when he and the others first entered the human world. ‘The humans control a weapon that kills us. ’ If they wanted to live in it, they would have to be cunning. Brute force would not work, not anymore. That was the most frightening part of the whole Saint of Killers situation. The Saint's guns _killed_ demons, they weren't just sent back to hell. What could the Angel of Death possibly have been thinking? Unfortunately no one could ask him since he hadn't been seen since giving his sword away to the damned soul of that vengeful soldier.

As he waited in the crowded train station, he recognized a familiar figure riding by on the road outside. It was that bastard Deputy Marshal. That could only mean Orton or the other one was nearby. He needed to get out of there right away. He looked around for an escape route. In the distance the train was approaching the station. There was a chance if he caught it at the last moment as it left the station, he could get away. He slipped around the back of the building to wait out of sight.

The train stopped in a huge cloud of steam. He watched as some passengers disembarked from the train, bags were loaded and unloaded and new passengers boarded. Finally the last call came and Otunga breathed a sigh of relief. He started forward, only to be jerked to a halt by a strong hand on the back of his neck. “Going somewhere?” a cool amused voice asked. He looked around and saw the Deputy Marshal standing nearby, smirking cockily at him.

Whistling loudly, the train started pulling out of the station, steam shooting from behind the wheels.

Otunga panicked and struggled desperately to get away from the grip on the back of his neck, but the human was too strong. He was propelled off the train station deck and into the mud and horse shit below. He scrambled to get to his feet and run to catch the train. Something landed hard on his back, driving his face deep into the mud. Furious and terrified, Otunga flailed, trying to get out from under whatever was holding him down in the mud. He struggled with all his might but whoever was on his back was stronger still. He felt his arms dragged behind his back and his wrists cuffed securely with iron. He swore furiously despite the mud in his mouth.

“Now, now,” Rollins admonished, crouching in front of the pinned demon, well aware of the spectators on the station’s veranda. “There is no need for that kind of language. Roman, please let our good deputy up so we can talk like civilized folk.”

Otunga felt himself hauled to his feet, that strong grip on the back of his neck still tight.

“Nothing to see here, folks!” Seth called to the onlookers. “We just need to ask this gentleman some questions. You can go on about your business.” Seeing Seth's badge, the people did as they were told, as they always did. It appeared that some of them had run-ins with Wade Barrett and his deputies and they did not object to seeing one of them getting a bit roughed up by a higher authority. “Give ‘em hell, Marshal!” one of them with shoulder-length curly blond hair even called to Seth.

Grinning, Seth turned back to Roman and Otunga who was still struggling.

“Where are the rest of Nexus?” Seth asked, standing in front of Otunga like a taunt.

“Fuck off and die you human piece of shit!” Otunga snarled defiantly.

Seth tsk'd in mocking sadness. “Such language.” He looked behind Otunga at Roman and said, “Let’s take this ‘gentleman’ somewhere we can discuss his situation in private.”

Otunga struggled but Roman had a good hold on him and marched him across the station. Taking some rope and binding his feet and legs together as well, they slung the demon across the saddle of John’s horse, who pinned its ears back in displeasure and danced uneasily while they secured it. Seth gagged it and they rode back to the jail. It was still empty. They dragged Otunga to the same room Nexus had tortured Dean in. Seth loved the symmetry. He was just about to secure the same rope around Otunga’s neck when the demon with an incredible burst of strength broke the cuffs, lunging towards Seth with a scream of hate. Seth dropped to the floor on his back, rolling away as fast as he could. His reflexes and agility were astonishing for a human.

Roman dove at Otunga, spearing it across its midsection with his shoulder and driving it into the wall. There was a loud crack as Otunga's head and spine hit the wall hard but the demon was unphased. Snarling, it fought Roman until suddenly Roman’s eyes flashed green as he grabbed the demon by its throat and hurled it down into the floor, breaking more bones and boards alike. For a brief second, there was only the sound of harsh breathing. Then Roman hauled the broken demon to its feet.

“As I was saying,” Seth said already back on his feet. His eyes were wide and shining with the surge of adrenaline. Otunga glared at him with such hatred Seth couldn’t help it. He deliberately smiled his infuriating grin again. “Aww... Is the poor little demon mad?” He knew he was asking for trouble but he had complete trust in Roman.

Roman had his arms wrapped around the demon’s shoulders in a full nelson hold. Only now it wasn’t just Roman. With incredible force, he slammed the demon on its back to the ground and drove a boot into its chest, pinning it there like a fly. “ _You’re playing a dangerous game, boy,_ ” the Saint of Killers said as he turned his pale gaze to Seth, his voice gravel and cobwebs. “ _Any closer and he would have had you._ ”

“Never,” Seth grinned, feeling cocky. “My plans do not fail.” Here was the Saint of Killers himself, talking directly to him. As intimidating as he was, Seth was feeling very confident with the Saint there.

As much as Roman personally wanted to grab Seth and shake him for being too cocky, he could feel the Saint’s amusement and liking of Rollins’ sheer amount of guts. He looked down at Otunga, seeing the demon clearly inside its human shell. The creature glared up at him, absolute hatred on its ‘face’.

“I'm only going to ask one more time: where are the rest of Nexus?” Seth asked, keeping just out of reach.

Otunga didn’t say anything until Roman started more weight on its chest. They could clearly hear the ribs popping. “Barrett, Gabriel and Slater are up in the mountains, tracking Cena,” Otunga gasped.

Seth frowned. Shit. He snorted in disdain despite the thread of fear racing up his spine. “They’ll never find him,” he said.

Despite the pain he had to be in, Otunga laughed, his mouth black with blood. “Of course they will! He has our blood. It will draw Nexus like flies to honey.” He coughed wetly. Now Otunga was struggling in earnest and Roman was having a hard time keeping it pinned.

 _“Done?_ ” the Saint asked Seth, who nodded.

Otunga screamed as Roman put his boot completely though its torso, blood and organs squishing wetly on the floor. The demon pulled itself free of its ruined shell, eyes fixed on Seth.

Seth couldn’t see what was happening with the demon, but he could see Roman drawing a Colt Walker and aiming it right at him. Claws outstretched, the demon leaped at Seth who instinctively hit the floor just as Roman fired. Unable to be seen by human eyes, the thing's lifeless corpse flopped limply to the floor next to Seth before the echo of the gun rolled into silence. Seth shuddered as he looked up at Roman whose eyes rolled back into his head.

Face pale but still operating on adrenaline, Seth caught Roman and hauled him up over his shoulders, staggering and swearing as he made his way out to the front of the empty jail where the horses were hitched. He maneuvered his friend over the saddle of his paint. “Hang in there Roman,” he mumbled at Roman’s body as he used the length of rope to tie John’s and Roman’s horses together, then mounted his own horse, sitting behind Roman.

For the first time in his life Seth prayed to the Saint of Killers that he hadn’t made a mistake and he could get there before John, Dean and Randy were overwhelmed. He felt a brief stab of guilt for asking Randy to trust him and then forcing him immediately into this situation. But Randy was a grown man and could handle himself. It was Dean he was most worried about.

With a nudge of his heels, he led Roman’s horse and Cena’s horse away from the jail and away from town. He needed to make tracks. Hopefully Roman would wake up soon. He needed Roman more than ever.

TBC

 A big, huge thank you to kiss316 for asking questions, pointing out flaws, and being awesome in general.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Seth, Roman and Randy are away, the Nexus stalks John, Dean and Punk.

_Warnings: Angst, swearing and violence,_

A big, huge thank you to kiss316 for asking questions, spotting the hiding typos, pointing out flaws, and being awesome in general.

**Legend Killer 11**

Randy, Roman and Seth had left soon after John and Randy’s early morning conversation. Seth had refused to let him go with them when John offered, telling him bluntly that he would be more of a hindrance than a help. John hated to think Seth was right, even if he was.

Roman and Randy looked calm. To Randy it was just another day. Roman knew the bulk of the killing would be on him, but Seth would be with them and he trusted his friend with his life.

Seth had taken John aside as the others were mounting up. “I’m going to be straight with you,” he said, looking at John dead in the eyes. “Right now there are three people in the world who matter. I’m taking two of them. You are responsible for the third. _Nothing_ gets to him, got it?”

John was surprised at how fierce Seth looked. He nodded. “I won’t let anything happen to him, you have my word,” he promised.

The three rode out not looking back. After they had left, John realized that his badge was missing.

He was used to the bustle of the big city and being involved in the action, but here he was a bystander and worse, a burden. Since the three demon hunters had taken all the horses, he was stuck at the cabin unless he wanted to walk back to town. But realistically, what could he do when he got there? Besides, the trees were so thick that he figured he’d be lost the minute he lost sight of the cabin.

Seth had promised to bring back his horse from the Helena livery when he returned, but John had no idea of exactly when that might be or if he would even be alive when they did. In the meantime, he waited for Dean to wake up. Both Seth and Roman had advised him to make sure that there was coffee for Dean, or John might find himself dead before the Nexus could finish the job. John had laughed, thinking they were joking. The look they gave him made him reconsider. Being left alone with no horses and a sleeping Dean, John realized he was bored.

And frustrated.

And terrified.

But mostly bored.

So while the coffee brewed on the fire, John sat outside the cabin and cleaned his gun while he waited. The day was clear and the temperature was mild. The birds chirped and the ever-present sound of wind in the trees whispered in the slight breeze. It was a glorious day this high up in the mountains. The surrounding peaks weren't jagged, but the mountain the cabin was perched on rose steeply above them, its granite top visible over the treetops. With a little exploration he found the small stream and for something to do he decided try his hand at tracking. Not wanting to be caught in the cabin and unaware of approaching threats, he started walking in an increasing spiral around the cabin, looking for prints. The rain had washed out most of them, and the ones left were made by himself and the others. He was rather proud of himself for recognizing his own, and Roman's. He could tell Seth's since there were slightly smaller.

“For a big-shot US Marshal, you still miss much about your surroundings,” observed a mocking male voice from right behind him.

John jumped about three feet in the air and spun around, instinctively reaching for his gun. A tall, lanky man dressed in buckskin with shoulder length straight black hair stood smirking at him. He was holding a shotgun across his shoulder and a small bag made of leather hung from a thong around his neck. The wind twitched at a feather braided into his hair. Seeing John reaching for the gun, the man lowered the shotgun and aimed it casually in John’s direct. “I wouldn’t,” he warned. It would have been hard to imagine a person with more confidence than this man.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on a man,” John admonished, moving his hand away from his gun. Flushing with embarrassment, he was all too aware he had been caught with his pants down, figuratively.

“You didn’t make it difficult,” the man said dryly. He shifted his weight as he glanced around. His eyes were constantly moving from John to the surrounding trees and back again.

“Well, I’d say you are the quietest-moving man I’ve ever met.” John tried to remain polite. He didn’t know if this guy was a friend or foe yet, though he didn’t shoot John in the back when he easily could have, which went a long way in John’s book. “My name is US Marshal John Cena. What do they call you?” John asked. His racing heart was slowing down as he stepped away from the footprints and maneuvered to put himself between the newcomer and the cabin where Dean was still sleeping. That was not lost on the man either.

“Orton calls me Punk,” the man said. He stared at John curiously and shifted his gun back to his shoulder.

“You’re Orton’s friend?” John asked, a bit relieved.

“You’re the idiot that got himself infected by a demon,” Punk replied with a smirk instead of answering, like John should have known better.

“How was I supposed to know that the sheriff and his deputies are demons?” John protested. “I had no idea they even existed before yesterday. And my deputy didn’t see fit warn me about them.” He hated how whiny he sounded.

“Would you have believed him?” Punk asked curiously, cocking his head to the side.

“Honestly, no,” John had to admit. “I would have thought he was crazy.”

“Your deputy is smarter than you,” Punk stated. “Your people don’t believe in the spirit world. That’s why you are so vulnerable to them.”

Getting annoyed at Punk’s superior attitude, John was about to ask the man why he was there when they were both distracted by a shirtless Dean staggering out of the cabin. The cuts on his chest and back were swollen and very sore-looking where Slater had worked him over with his knife. Randy’s stitching stood out black against the raw red. Everywhere else he sported deep purple bruises. Despite the fact that he had to be in a lot of pain, his eyes were clear and cold. He held a cup of steaming coffee. “Did you make this?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, the rope burns livid around his neck.

Bemused that Dean was even able to walk after everything he had suffered, John merely nodded.

“Saved your life,” Dean muttered as he took a small tentative sip of the steaming liquid. He looked at Punk, unimpressed. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Orton asked me to keep an eye on you while they’re gone,” Punk said, not answering Dean’s question either.

Dean glanced over at Cena. “He thinks I need two babysitters?” he snarked, blowing on the hot coffee before sipping it.

Punk snorted. “You need someone to watch your back,” he said. “Besides, the eastern marshal is one step away from becoming a demon himself. You will probably have to kill him.”

Dean glanced over at Cena and smirked. “I can do that,” he commented. Before Cena could protest, Dean glanced over at the empty corral. “When did they leave?” he wanted to know.

“Several hours ago,” Punk said, squinting up at the sun.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Dean turned and started walking away from the cabin in the direction of town. For a full minute John and Punk just watched him go, and then it registered to John that he was not coming back. “What the hell, Ambrose? Are you going to walk all the way to town?” he asked, jogging to catch up to Dean. Punk trailed casually behind them. “You’ll never make it.”

Dean didn’t respond. He just kept walking as if on a mission.

John tried to stop him. “By the time you get there, they will have killed all the Nexus.” And _that_ reminded John that he probably wouldn’t live to see the sunset. He pushed that thought away, but it reminded him of something he wanted to ask Punk.

Dean didn’t look at him; he just kept walking and drinking his coffee.

“You don't have to hunt them. Nexus is on its way,” Punk said behind them. “They’re hunting your eastern US Marshal friend here.” He gestured at John as if it wasn’t clear already.

That stopped Dean. He turned around and scrutinized Punk. “You sure?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

Punk nodded. “If you wait, you will get your chance to kill some Nexus.”

“How long?” Dean asked, lowering his cup. He was deathly pale with dark circles under his eyes. John couldn’t believe the guy was still on his feet. As if in response to John’s unspoken thought Dean’s knees started to buckle. “Whoa there,” he said, wrapping arm around Dean’s waist, trying not to touch the man’s wounds. Dean didn’t pay any attention to him though. He just kept staring at Punk, waiting for an answer.

Shrugging, Punk replied, “They’ll be here soon.”

John hated how they were so casual about the situation. But he wasn’t going to show fear in front of them. “If the Nexus is on its way, aren’t you worried about getting possessed? You don’t follow the Saint of Killers,” he asked Punk as he slowly helped Dean back to the cabin. That question earned him another look that told him he was an idiot and damned if he wasn’t getting tired of it.

“No,” Punk said. He didn’t elaborate but his hand went to the small leather bag hanging from his neck. Both Dean and John noticed.

“Is that how are you protected?” John persisted. He really needed to know.

“The earth spirits protect me,” Punk said, back to studying the surrounding area. He wasn't going to explain his beliefs and connection to the earth to the white man.

They reached the cabin and John gently eased Dean down on a stump near the door. He fetched a shirt from inside the cabin and brought it out for Dean to wear. He also refreshed Dean’s coffee and tried to think of some way to make the demon killer more comfortable. He asked Dean about his experiences with the Marshals’ service but the only things that got a response from Ambrose was the coffee and the prospect of Nexus coming.

He saw Punk sitting Indian-style nearby. “Is it true that Crowfoot can get rid of the demons’ influence over a soul?” John asked, trying to make it sound like he was merely making conversation. But he could tell that Punk wasn't fooled. Dean too, from the way he turned and looked at John.

Giving him a penetrating look, Punk asked, “Orton told you that?”

John nodded.

Staring off into the distance, Punk considered his words carefully. “What he said was true, but what was done to you cannot be undone. Crowfoot can’t cleanse the tainted part of your spirit, he can only remove it.” Punk said.

That didn’t sound so bad. “These guys are able live with holes in their souls,” he motioned to Dean.

“Holes, yes,” Punk agreed. “But this isn’t about holes. This is a tearing away of an entire part of your spirit. You will be left with something much less.”

“I can live with that,” John said.

“Are you sure?” Punk questioned.

“Yes,” John said determined, even though he felt cold at the implications. “Will Crowfoot help me?”

“If you ask real nicely, he might,” Punk grinned and suddenly he looked much younger. “You could bring him something to trade.”

“What would he want?” John wondered.

“I think that’s up to you to decide what your spirit is worth,” Punk said sagely.

Then Dean looked up, feeling uneasy and smiled a death’s head grin. The fun was about to begin.

At the same time Punk stiffened and rose smoothly to his feet. He looked around, even glancing up as some birds flew by overhead. “They're near,” he said.

John couldn’t stop his shudder of dread but he was determined to stay and protect Dean like Seth had told him to. He checked the load of his gun. He knew there was very little he could do but he wasn’t going to run and leave Dean and Punk to face Nexus by themselves. “Could the earth spirits protect me?” he asked.

“You will be lucky if they don’t attack you for being part of Nexus,” Punk replied.

Pale, John nodded. He wanted to protest again that it wasn’t his fault but that was pointless. Resigned to his fate, John looked down. “Just be sure to kill me before they take me,” he told Dean.

“Will do,” Dean said a bit too eagerly.

But Punk was staring at Cena thoughtfully. It wouldn’t hurt to have another ally, he decided. And denying Nexus a new member was a win, no matter how you looked at it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another leather bag the size of his hand and frowned at it. It never hurt to ask the spirits for their help. They might be willing. He crouched down and picked up some dirt, small rocks and leaves from the ground in his palm. Blowing on it softly, he reached out as if to show the sun what he was holding. He sang a few words in his native language and then poured the mixture into the bag. Pulling the ties shut he tossed it to John. “Take this,” he instructed. “It may help.” Then he vanished into the foliage

Scowling perplexed at the small bag, John shook his head and stuffed it into his pocket. He hadn’t missed the fact that Punk had said 'they'. He looked over at Dean. “We need to go,” he said.

Dean looked at him with scorn. “I don't run from a fight.” The bastard actually drank another mouthful of coffee like it was a Sunday morning.

“Listen, you maniac, you heard him. There is more than one coming.” John hoped that maybe Dean wasn't as insane as he feared. That maybe he would listen to sense and reason.

“So?” Dean asked, genuinely baffled at John.

So much for that hope. Nearly tearing his hair out with frustration, John said “So? Do you think you can take Nexus on in the shape you’re in? Look at you!”

Slowly, stiffly, with a wince, Dean stood up so he could stare challengingly into Cena’s eyes. Taller than Cena, he looked down at him with eyes that weren’t entirely sane through his fringe of bangs. He abruptly smiled and spoke in a deliberate way that reminded John of one of his school teachers explaining a concept that John should have been able to understand but was too dense to figure out on his own. “Maybe you don’t get it, Marshal. _I don’t care how I look_. Looks aren’t important. Now, what I do care about is killing those sons of bitches. So here is how this is going to play out: you can get out of my way,” Dean paused to see if Cena would take him up on the suggestion, which he didn’t. “Or,” he went on, “you can make yourself useful and watch my back. Your call. But let’s be clear on one thing, _I am going to kill them,_ got it?”

Seeing how Dean was determined to fight, Cena acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Seth’s warning rang in his head but the best way to protect Dean was to turn him loose on the demons hunting them and watch out for him as much as possible. He hoped that Punk knew what Dean was planning, although if Ambrose was anything like Orton, (and he suspected those two were cut from the same cloth) then Punk would know exactly what Dean planned to do. “Very well. But at least get in the cabin so they can’t just shoot your stupid ass while it’s out in the open,” he advised.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled. He checked his revolvers even though those weren’t the ones he would use to kill the Nexus. Those particular guns never needed reloading and they never jammed. Dean had only fired them once, but he remembered the feel of the cool sandalwood grips in his hands and the incredible destructive power that emanated from them. He longed to hold them again.

Meanwhile Punk was circling the area around the cabin. He softly chanted a prayer to the spirits, exhorting them to help him. He had placed certain items in strategic areas to strengthen the local earth spirits. He could feel their hatred for the intruding demons and called upon them again for their aid, which they gave willingly. He wasn’t a medicine man in the same league as Crowfoot, who could call on spirits powerful enough to fight and vanquish demons. The spirits he could summon couldn’t hurt the Nexus but they could confuse and distract them until Legend Killer or one of his new brothers could. That’s how he and Randy had worked so well in the past. He looked up as earth spirits rushed past him like slight currents of wind, making straight for their targets.

In the cabin, John and Dean took up spots at the open windows and waited. Dean looked over at the Saint of Killers and his lips stretched back into the vicious grin of the wolf. The Saint tipped his head in acknowledgment. There was a sudden thrashing in the trees nearby and someone shouting in panic. “Punk?” John asked, concerned.

Dean looked at the Saint for confirmation but the tall spirit shook its head. ‘ _No_ ,’ he said. ‘ _But he’s involved. He is using the local spirits to distract the Nexus.’_

Not needing to be told anymore, Dean rushed out of the cabin and into the trees. John was on his heels swearing to himself as he followed the lunatic. He couldn’t believe that Dean had the strength to walk, let alone run after everything he had endured the day before. The tree grew thicker and he raised his arms to keep from getting smashed in the face by a branch and lost sight of Dean. He stopped, not daring to call out and draw attention to himself or Dean. A branch on the ground snapped and John spun around, raising his gun.

There was nothing there. Swallowing in sudden fear, John felt a malevolent hatred from something just out of sight, like a physical touch. He hoped it wasn’t aimed at him, because whatever was out there was not something he wanted to mess with. He started forward in the direction Dean had disappeared but suddenly his body jerked to a stop and refused to move.

Justin Gabriel was there, aiming his gun at Cena but blinked his solid black eyes when he saw that it was John. He grinned and moved a finger to his lips in the classic shushing motion. Shaking, John stood as Gabriel walked up to him. “Nice to see you again, Marshal,” the demon whispered in his ear. “I thought you were just another one of those pesky spirits at first. Good thing I didn’t shoot you on accident.”

John was furiously fighting against the influence, but just like last time he was absolutely helpless against it. There was a movement behind Gabriel but John didn't dare look, lest he give it away. Instead, he spoke to the demon trying to keep its attention on him. “I know what you are, and I won't let you take me.”

Gabriel laughed. “You have no choice, Marshal. You are already one of us. My brother will be taking your body soon. And don't think that I don't know you are right behind me Saint of Killers,” he said, spinning around to face…nobody. “Fucking earth spirits!” he snarled. A squirrel chittered furiously from the treetops in response.

He turned back to Cena and grabbing him by the back of the neck, steered him in the direction of the cabin. A branch dropped on top of Gabriel from a tree, hitting him square in the face. “You can’t do anything to me, can you?” he shouted at the empty air as he spun and aimed his gun at a quivering bush. It was probably his imagination but John could have sworn that he could see baleful yellow eyes glaring from behind it. Gabriel shot into the bush. “All you can do is shake some branches! You’re nothing, do you hear me?” he shouted. The feeling of hatred intensified until John was sweating with terror. The demon was responding too, jumping in alarm at every nearby sound and shooting randomly at the foliage. But if it made any difference, John couldn’t see it.

Just as John was sure he was going to die of fright, Dean appeared off to the side. He was standing straight and tall despite the livid bruises and cuts, his eyes blazing green. He didn't bother to speak; he just drew the massive Colt Walker and pulled the trigger, destroying the demon masquerading as Justin Gabriel. The thunder of the gun rolled off the nearby mountains. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Free of the influence, John was beside him in an instant, catching him in a fireman’s lift.

“I owe you my life,” John said to the air around him hoping the spirits wouldn’t take their anger out on him. “Thank you.” He waited for a few seconds to see if there was any response, but the forest was silent and watchful. Remembering Seth’s warning, he climbed further up the slope of the mountain with Dean across his shoulders moving away from the cabin. The only sound was his labored breathing from the strain of carrying Dean’s weight in the thin air. After about a hundred meters, he was forced to rest. He gently laid Dean down behind some rocks and scrub bushes, hiding him from any gunsights. He concealed himself nearby and waited for Dean to recover. The trees had thinned out a bit, allowing him to see further around him. It was so quiet that even John’s breathing seemed ridiculously loud and he found himself holding his breath. He still felt like the forest was watching him, making him extra alert. Even still, Punk managed to sneak up on him; nearly causing John’s already strained heart to just stop when he felt the soft touch in his shoulder.

“Was it you that made the spirits help us?” John whispered.

“I asked for their help, and they gave it,” Punk corrected him in a low voice. He knew that there were two other demons in the area. He wasn’t sure how long the earth spirits could keep them distracted after all the noise Gabriel kicked up. They needed Dean to wake up, or the others to return.

“Please thank them for me,” John said, finally getting his breathing and heart beat under control.

“Your thanks are unnecessary.”

“You have it anyway,” John said.

Punk shook his head, but it surprised him to realize John was entirely sincere in his gratitude. The man was not as infected with greed as the other white men Punk had met. With very few exceptions, most easterners Punk had met were actively trying to kill his people or deprive them of their land.

While they waited, Punk did a quick mental tally; Dean had killed one and as soon as he recovered enough to kill the others it would be over. But until then they remained in very great danger. The scream of a hawk overhead warned him a split second before Heath Slater stepped out from behind a tree, a wicked-looking knife in one hand and aiming his gun at them with the other. His face and clothes were a mess of cuts and bruises. John threw himself between Slater and Dean, using his body as a shield. “I ain’t gonna waste any more time with you,” Slater screamed and raised his revolver aimed directly at John.

John’s eyes widened and he knew he was going to die. He refused to move though. Dean was right behind him and John wasn’t going to give Slater a clean shot at the vulnerable lunatic. He hoped Punk would be able to stop Slater.

But from out of nowhere, Randy struck with the speed of a rattlesnake. He was on Slater before he could pull the trigger, driving him to the ground and punching Slater directly in the face hard enough to break bones. The demon howled with rage. Randy drew back his fist and punched him right through the sternum, black blood sprayed across Randy’s face. From the wreckage of its human body, the Nexus demon pulled itself free.

Nauseated, John could see it now; see what Randy was intent on killing with his bare hands. With a horrid fascination he watched Randy wrestling with it and wondered briefly if he could be as brave as Orton; facing that nightmare with nothing but his bare fists and righteous fury. He was just starting to wonder why Randy didn’t shoot it when there was a movement from the ground next to him. Dean had rolled over, took aim with a Colt Walker and fired. Heath Slater died instantly, his body flopping to the ground. Randy breathed hard, eyes bright was rage.

“Why didn't you kill him?” John asked about Slater. Randy didn’t respond except to go pale and with a wince, John realized the answer. There was only one reason Orton wouldn't kill a demon right in front of him. He glanced over at Dean, who was still lying hidden in the brush. Punk wasn’t visible and John wondered where he got off to.

“One more,” he said to Randy. “Just have one more then…” he trailed off. Just one more then John would be dead.

They were interrupted by the sharp crack a rifle from below and Randy cried out in surprise, clutching his left arm which was now pouring blood. John instinctively threw himself at Randy, using his greater weight to push the younger man off his feet and flat on his stomach on the ground. He lay directly on top of the outlaw, covering him with his own body. John buried his face into the back of Randy's neck, tense, waiting for the sharp pain of bullets.

And underneath him, feeling the weight of another body pressing him to the ground, Randy went insane.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

_Warnings: Angst, swearing and violence_

_As always, huge huge thank-yous to kiss316 for pointing out stuff!_

_Welcome back Randy. You've been missed!_

**Legend Killer Chapter 12**

… _and underneath him, Randy went insane._

For a few seconds Randy just laid there, frozen. All he could feel was weight pressing him down to the ground and the hot breath on the back of his neck. His eyes went wide with horror and disbelief.

It was happening again.

Mentally he felt something pulling loose, like the roots of a tree torn away by a flash flood leaving it toppling into the raging torrent, and all his rational thoughts stopped, leaving only animal reflex. With strength born of supernatural desperation and rage, Randy rose to his hands and knees, clawing at the arms around his shoulders. He got a firm hold and flung the person into the air, far away from him. With unimaginable speed he pulled his gun from its holster and fired while the person (demon?) was still in midair. Red blood sprayed from its neck as it cried out. With a sickening thud, it slammed into the thick trunk of a towering pine tree several meters away, dropped to the ground and lay still.

Bullets splashed the ground nearby, but Randy was beyond self-preservation. On one knee he aimed his revolver in the direction from where the bullets were coming from and pulled the trigger twice. There was a shout of pain but no answering shots. Keeping his gun drawn Randy listened, more than ready to kill anything that approached him. The demon he had shot earlier hadn’t moved, lying at the base of the tree. He eyed it with suspicion and would shoot it again if it so much as twitched. He tensed as he heard the sound of more gunfire from the trees below. Then someone was shouting, calling his name and the names of others. He didn’t answer. There was no way in hell he was going to give away his position.

Silence rang through the trees between gunfire. Heart still pounding with adrenaline, Randy scanned the area and startled when he saw a figure with familiar blond hair lying hidden nearby, facing away from him. Randy crawled over to him on hands and knees, taking no notice of the hot blood pouring down his arm. “Ted?” he asked softly, reaching out tentatively to touch Ted’s shoulder but Ted didn’t respond. He shook Ted’s shoulder, trying to get the boy to wake up. “Teddy?” he asked again.

Still no response.

“It’s okay now, Teddy. I killed him. Benoit’s dead so you can wake up now.” Bracing himself, Randy lifted the back of Ted’s shirt, but there were only stitched cuts and deep black bruises. Someone had worked him over pretty good, but Randy breathed a sigh of relief anyway.

He frowned in confusion and put a hand on his head. He _remembered_ Teddy’s tortured body tied to the prison wagon hanging next to Cody’s, thick blood drying in a pool at their feet. Had that been a dream? Ted didn’t wake up, but he was breathing steadily. Randy stroked the blond hair back and said, “Don’t worry Teddy, I’ll protect you until you wake up.”

Several meters away from Randy at the base of the tree, John lay very still, completely dazed. Distantly, he could feel blood pulsing down his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt but miraculously the bullet had only grazed him. He was in shock, unable to comprehend the sheer strength and speed Randy had possessed. One second he had been trying to protect Randy, the next he had felt the brutal impact of the tree. He was trying desperately to control his breathing and pain. Randy hadn't come over to check to see if he was still alive. As he lay there he could hear Randy trying to wake Dean up and wondered who Ted was until he heard Randy say Benoit’s name. John remembered Hunter telling him about Randy’s deputies Ted and Cody. Did Orton think that Dean was Ted? There was a pleading tone in the outlaw’s voice made John almost feel sorry for the psychopath, despite being furious with Orton for shooting him for no apparent reason. He tensed when a hand from behind him pressed a cloth to the stinging wound on his neck. He turned his head and saw Punk pressing a finger to his lips.

“Don’t move. He remembers too clearly to see you,” Punk cautioned in a whisper. John had no idea what that meant but he did as he was told.

Becoming very still, Randy focused on the two figures climbing the slope of the mountain towards them. He kept his revolver aimed at them until he saw the light gleaming off of a badge. When they got close enough, he recognized Roman and Seth. He shook his head, puzzled. Randy glanced down and swallowed hard when he saw it wasn’t Ted after all. He holstered his gun and rubbed his eyes. Damn it. What the hell was happening to him?

“Orton?” Seth shouted as he and Roman jogged up to where the bodies were strewn about, breathing hard in the thin air. “Why didn't you answer?” He saw where Dean was lying hidden behind Randy and went over to check on him. “He’s okay,” he told Roman. Seth scanned the area, seeing Punk and Cena a little ways away. “Looks like Dean killed Slater.”

“God, that was a messy one,” Roman observed, seeing the blood, bones and organs everywhere. He looked over at Randy, who still blinking with confusion. He shuddered and looked away. Would that be him eventually? A worn-out empty shell?

With Punk’s help, John sat up and took the cloth from Punk and pressed it against his neck to staunch the blood. His back and head hurt like a son of a bitch where he had hit the tree. He glared at Orton. “What the fuck was that for? I was just trying to protect you.”

Randy didn’t seem to hear him. Punk was frowning with concern though. “You didn’t get Barrett?” he asked Seth, seeing Roman was still up and walking around.

“Barrett saw us coming and took off. He’s the last one?” Seth asked. Roman was still watching Randy.

“I think so. Ambrose killed Gabriel earlier,” John reported.

Punk went over to talk quietly to Randy, and then they both turned and started down the slope towards the cabin. Sighing, Roman picked up Dean and Seth helped Cena to his feet. “He shot you? Why?” Seth asked.

John grimaced with pain. “I have no idea,” he hissed. “I was trying to protect him when Barrett started shooting at us. Then the fucker just threw me into that tree, but not before shooting me in the neck in midair.”

Seth was impressed. He tried to imagine how strong Randy was to throw a grown man that far. He wondered if Roman could do that too, but he didn’t say that to John. Nor did he say anything about Randy’s irrational behavior at the bank, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Orton was mentally unraveling. He had hoped that Randy could hold it together long enough to help finish Nexus, but now it looked like Randy was too far gone. Seth was starting to think he had made a mistake when he talked Orton out of committing suicide. He sighed to John, “Let’s get back to the cabin.”

At the cabin Randy didn’t apologize or explain why he had shot John. He just bandaged his own arm and set about collecting his things. Punk had retrieved his appaloosa from where it was tethered nearby and led the horse back to the cabin. By this time Dean was awake and Seth and Roman had caught them up to the events in town.

Seth, Roman and Dean readied their horses to ride out after Barrett. The whole time Randy hadn’t said a word. He threw his saddlebags over the back of the saddle on his roan and mounted up, gathering the reins. “Where are you going?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I’m going with Punk back to his people.” Randy’s voice was hollow and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked at Dean like he couldn’t figure out who he was.

“You’re leaving now?” John asked, looking around for his horse. Ready or not, he was going with Randy. He saw his bay mare standing nearby and awkwardly mounted up as well, his back and head aching enough to make him see stars. His saddlebags were still back in town at the boarding house along with Seth’s but that didn’t matter to him. He would just have to make do.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Punk asked as John walked the mare over to where they were standing. He smirked at John's discomfort.

“With you,” Cena said firmly, glaring at Punk. “You said Crowfoot can get rid of the demon taint of my soul. So until he does, I’m your partner.” He fully expected Randy to say no, to sneer at him, but Randy ignored him, still caught up in the past.

“We’re traveling the high country. We’re not slowing down for you,” Punk warned.

“You won’t have to,” John reassured him, relieved that Randy hadn’t said no or just shot him again but now John was getting slightly worried that there hadn’t been any response to his joining them. He didn’t like the dazed look in Randy’s eyes.

“What about Barrett?” Dean asked. “He’s still out there. And so is the Beast.” It surprised Seth to see Dean getting upset that Randy was leaving them. Dean usually didn’t care what people did and in Seth’s personal opinion, Randy’s leaving the group was for the best for all parties involved.

Dean’s words must have gotten through on some level. “Brat, I’m pretty sure the three of you can handle them,” Randy sighed, backing his horse away from the cabin. Punk and John turned their horses to go.

“So you’re just going on vacation now, is that it?” Dean asked, his feelings of betrayal masked under heavy sarcasm but didn’t fool Seth or Roman.

“Yep,” Randy said, starting to get annoyed with Dean’s questions. “I’m taking a vacation. Have fun, you guys.”

“Dean, its fine,” Seth said, placing a hand on Dean’s forearm. “We can handle this.”

“Let him go, Dean,” Roman said trading glances with Seth. “It’s his choice.”

Dean rounded on Roman. “Well I thought that we had each other’s backs. Was that a lie?” He didn’t have many friends and was just starting to consider Randy one, and then the guy pulls this shit.

“No it wasn’t,” Randy said suddenly as he reined his roan and giving Dean a hard stare. His freshly resurfaced memories of Teddy and Cody were getting tangled with the new ones of Ambrose and Reigns and he knew he had to remove himself from the situation before things really went pear-shaped. The thing was, he _wanted_ to stay and protect them but the damned Saint had cut him off, making him the most useless of the three in this fight. Rollins had already proved he could deal with demons just as effectively as Randy.

And then there was Crowfoot’s request to see him. He knew that the old shaman wouldn’t ask for Randy on a whim. He hesitated, and glanced at Punk’s impassive face. “But something’s happening up in the Nations, and they need me. You have Rollins to help deal with Nexus so you have no fucking excuse for not finishing them off. And when you’re done here, you and Reigns better head up to the Nations and join us.”

The look on Randy’s face was dead serious and Dean leaned back on his heels, considering Randy’s words. He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Randy’s.

“Yeah, you just need to listen to me,” Seth grinned at Dean trying to lighten the mood. “We need to pick up Barrett’s trail,” he said, thinking it was time to get back on track. He would explain to Dean later about Randy’s behavior. “Dean, Roman, mount up. We need to get moving.” Dean’s lips twisted but he nodded.

Randy told Punk and John he was going to stop in town for supplies before hitting the trail. John quietly sighed in relief; he could get his things from the boarding house as well. He hadn’t been looking forward to traveling with no extra clothes or ammunition. He also made sure to get his badge back from Randy. Punk merely nodded and said he would meet them later. He turned the appaloosa and loped off into the trees.

Barrett’s trail headed generally in the direction of town. Roman led the group, his black horse trotting easily up and down the ravines. As the group reached the halfway point to Helena where the trees started to thin out, Randy pulled up, uneasy. His instincts were ticking over that something was off. Behind him John also pulled up. “What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Randy said, but years of running from the authority had honed his instincts to a razor’s edge.

“Do you sense anything?” John asked. Ahead, the trio drew further away.

Randy frowned. He didn’t sense anything in the way of demons, but his instincts were screaming at him. Before he could say anything he saw Roman, who was a bit ahead of Seth and Dean, jerk backward, falling off his horse, blood spraying from his chest. He hit the rock-strewn ground, gasping for breath. Two heartbeats later they could hear the whip-crack report of a rifle echoing off of the surrounding mountains.

“ROMAN!” Seth screamed, his voice raw with horror. He jumped off his horse and ran to Roman’s body, crashing to his knees beside his, pressing his bare hands over the wound in a vain attempt to stem the gushing blood. Roman was staring up at him, gray eyes filled with shock and pain.

Eyes wide, Dean looked frantically for the telltale smoke of the shooter’s gun. Finally he saw it, unbelievably far away, halfway up the adjoining mountain. “Fucker has a buffalo rifle,” he snarled in white-hot rage. He dug his spurs deep into his horse’s sides. The horse leapt into a full gallop, Dean leaning over its neck with a single-minded determination to run down and kill whoever had shot his best friend.

“Hang on, Roman, _just hang on!”_ Seth said frantically. _“Randy!”_ Where the _fuck_ was Orton? Roman was dying under his hands and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t know what he would do if Roman died. For the first time since he was young, Seth Rollins was at a complete loss. He hadn't _planned_ for this! And then Randy was there, removing Seth’s blood-covered hand from Roman’s chest. He had a knife and was cutting away Roman’s shirt. “Get something to put on this,” he ordered to John who was on Roman’s other side.

Seth regretted his earlier misgivings about Randy. By now he was emphatically glad that Randy was still with them.

John ran to Randy’s horse which was the only one with saddlebags and grabbed a spare shirt. He was already ripping it into strips even as he hurried back to Randy who took the makeshift bandages and pressed them onto the wound. Randy reached out and grabbed Seth’s hand, confident and calm. “Put pressure here,” he instructed. “Don’t let up.” John crouched on Roman’s other side, helping to hold him steady. “We have to see if the bullet went through,” Randy stopped, thinking. A horrible suspicion crept over him. Buffalo rifles were not Barrett’s style but he knew whose it was. Seth was looking pleadingly at Roman to be okay, not thinking about anything else. Tears streamed unnoticed from his eyes. He grabbed Seth by his shoulder to get his focus back on the current situation. “Go after Ambrose!” he ordered

“But…” Seth protested, startled.

“We’ll take care of Reigns, but Ambrose needs you!” Randy snarled right in Seth’s face. The adrenaline had helped him to focus on the present. He knew what he needed to do. Getting Ambrose some back-up was paramount.

Eyes wide, Seth stared at Randy. Of course Orton was right. He couldn’t do anything for Roman that Randy and John couldn’t do and Dean needed him. Quickly looking at John and back at Randy, he nodded and ran to his horse. He jumped on the paint and spurred it, the animal galloping away with Seth bent over its neck.

Not sparing a glance after Seth, Randy turned to John. “Help me sit him up.” Despite being as gentle as possible, Roman was panting with agony by the time they finished, his face was white with pain and blood loss. Randy kept pressure on Roman’s chest, “Check his back” he ordered. “Did the bullet go through?”

John, leaning back, saw blood streaming down Roman’s broad back, matting his long black hair. “It did,” he reported, not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Passing a thick wad of cloth to John, Randy said, “Here. Keep pressure on it.”

John did as he was told. “Will he die?” he asked and he hated himself for asking it. He couldn’t believe that anyone could survive being shot like that. There was so much blood…

But Randy was no stranger to this situation and answered calmly. “The bullet didn’t kill him instantly, so the Saint’s strength should sustain him until we can get him some proper care.” He was listening to Roman’s breathing, trying to figure out if a lung was pierced. He didn’t think so, which was another point in Reign’s favor. Randy was frowning in concentration as he wiped the blood away from the entry wound on Roman’s chest. “Get me some alcohol. I keep some in my saddle bag,” he told John who rose to his feet smoothly. He found it easily and brought it back.

Hesitating, Randy looked into Roman’s gray eyes. There was pain there, but no fear. “This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but I need to clean this. Just hang in there.” He said to John, “Hold him steady.”

Roman closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He couldn’t help the scream of agony as he felt the burn of the alcohol, but John’s arm was comforting around his shoulder and soon it was over. Blackness swam over his eyes but he didn’t pass out. Then Randy was instructing John to hold another wad of cloth on the wound and he started wrapping the torn shirt around Roman’s broad chest to hold the bandages in place.

John thought back to the story of how Randy had survived being gutshot, which was pretty much unheard of. For the first time it truly hit home that these guys had an almost superhuman ability to survive what would normally be mortal injuries, thanks to the Saint of Killers. But that didn’t mean they were unkillable, Edge being the most recent example. And despite Randy’s unstable mental state and his own misgivings, John realized he was seeing a glimpse of the US Marshal that Randy Orton had once been.

“We can’t stay here,” Randy was saying. “We need to get him to a doctor.” And he needed Ambrose to get back, quickly. If any demons found them now…

“Agreed,” John said. He looked around, noting their surroundings. Silence continued to weigh on the area. “But Barrett could be in town,” he said. “If he finds us…If he tracks me down again...”

“We’ll just have to take the chance,” Randy replied grimly. He gently picked up Roman in his arms, carrying the man as steadily as possible to his roan. With John holding the horse, Randy lifted Roman up into the saddle and then mounted up behind him. With a nudge of his heels, he turned the horse in the direction of town, holding Roman steady with an arm around his ribs. John followed, leading Roman’s black.

It was obvious that Roman was in agony and every step the horse took jarred his wound. As much as he wanted to go faster, Randy forced himself to be patient. All that mattered was getting Roman to help and safety. There was brief burst of gunfire from up on the adjoining mountain in the direction where Dean and Seth had gone but Randy ignored it and held the roan to a smooth walk. Dean wouldn’t need the Colts for that enemy.

John kept trying to look in every direction at once, his gun in his hand. All that needed to happen right now was for Barrett to find them. Both Randy and Roman were in an incredibly vulnerable position. With Roman was too weak to take on Barrett, Dean gone and Randy was cut off, John was their only real offense. He saw how Randy was essentially shielding Roman with his own body and even though he agreed with the unspoken gesture, Randy considering himself expendable was troubling.

Luckily the doctor’s office was near the edge of town. They opted to go around to the back to avoid being seen and remembered. Roman was deathly pale but still conscious. His breathing was labored and he slumped in Randy’s arms. Randy began to feel uneasy. He closed his eyes in mental and physical exhaustion. _Shit_. He opened his eyes and pulled the roan to a halt. He dismounted and motioned for John to take the reins while he eased Roman out of the saddle.

As he watched Randy help Roman dismount, John saw how white Randy’s face was. The man was injured too, even though he hadn’t once complained.

With Roman once again in his arms, Randy climbed the low steps to the back door the doctor's office. John opened the door and quickly closed and locked it after they had entered the building. They found themselves in the examination room so Randy laid Roman down on the table. The front of Randy's shirt was coated in blood. Roman groaned low in his throat. “Get him some water,” Randy told John as he checked the makeshift bandages. They were completely soaked with blood.

A large man, one of the largest John had ever seen entered from the front of the office. “Hello, Marshal,” he said.

“Holy shit,” John gasped, stunned. Then he remembered his manners. “Are you the doctor? We need help.”

“We?” The big man looked at the dried blood on John's hands.

“It’s a friend,” John said. “He's been shot. It’s bad.” He gestured to Randy and Roman.

The big man walked into the room, “Orton,” he acknowledged completely not surprised. As if they had only just seen each other the day before, not years ago.

“Mark,” Randy replied, too tired and worried to be surprised at Mark's appearance. “Reign's has been shot in the chest with a buffalo rifle. I cleaned the wound and bandaged it,” he reported. “I don't think his lung was pierced.” He rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. Then he frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Hunter is on his way to Helena,” Mark said. “I told Rollins that I would keep an eye on him, so here I am.”

Randy seemed to accept that without question. John however had a million of them but he bit his tongue as Mark leaned over Reigns and started removing the blood-soaked bandages. He was completely unperturbed by all the blood as he studied the wound. “Get me some fresh bandages, water and tweezers,” he ordered. “I need to remove any material that the bullet might have driven into the wound on its way through,” he told John, who nodded and left the room. They could hear him rummaging through the cabinets.

While John was in the other room, Mark said to Randy, “You are taking a huge chance being here. Hunter is close.”

Randy shrugged. “I’m on my way out, actually. But the kid here got shot right in front of me.” Roman’s eyes were closed, but Randy didn’t think he was unconscious. Sweat was running off his forehead, soaking Roman’s long hair.

“You know who the shooter was,” Mark said, looking up to lock gazes with Randy. The man's pale eyes were unnerving but never condemning.

Lips pressed tightly, Randy nodded. “It was US Marshal Dave Batista.”

“Are you serious?” John asked from the doorway, his arms full of medical supplies. He hadn't met Batista but he remembered Randy talking about him that morning. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into the big picture. “So the Beast is here too?” He saw Mark glance up at Randy again but refocused on Roman again before Randy noticed.

“If not yet, then soon,” Randy sighed. Seeing that Mark had everything well in hand and there was nothing more he could do for Roman, Randy was just about to leave when a large hand caught his injured arm, eliciting a gasp of pain from him.

“You’re not going anywhere until I look at that,” Mark told him sternly. “Sit.” He pointed to a wooden chair. It was like being given an order by a thunderstorm.

Eyes wide, Randy sat. John resisted the urge to do the same.

Satisfied that Randy was obeying, Mark started cleaning out Roman’s wound, using tweezers to pick out pieces of the shirt that had been driven into his chest by the bullet. Blood flowed freely but that only helped to cleanse the wound as well. Finally Mark looked satisfied and bandaged the wound again. John helped him as he tended to the exit wound. In the chair, Randy closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall. He listened to the breathing in the room and tried to focus on the uneasiness he had felt since entering town. It was still there, but far in the background, thank god.

“Your turn, Orton,” Mark said and Randy opened his eyes. Roman was unconscious on the table, his torso wrapped in bandaging. John was now wearing a bandage on his neck as well.

“Its fine,” Randy started to argue, but one look from Mark shut him up. Reluctantly he pulled his jacket and shirt off so Mark could look at his arm. The bullet had caught him high in the bicep. He ignored John staring at the marking on his shoulders. Mark was just starting to remove the makeshift bandage when Randy stiffened in alarm. On the table, Roman started getting agitated too, his breath coming faster and he opened his eyes which were bright with the onset of fever.

“What’s going on?” John asked.

Roman turned his eyes to lock with Randy’s, his breath came faster and he tried to speak. Randy understood Roman’s agitation and he nodded to the wounded man. “I know,” he said.

“What is it?” John asked again, looking between the two.

Roman gasped between breaths, his voice raspy, “It’s coming.”

“What’s he talking about?” John demanded.

“The Beast. Its near,” Randy said simply. He couldn’t feel the Saint’s though.

On the table, Roman tried to sit up, but Mark held him down easily. “Lay still,” Mark ordered sternly, holding the younger man down with a firm hand.

Randy made his decision. He walked into the other room for a bit of privacy.

“Old man?” he asked quietly. Long seconds dragged by but finally he could feel the presence of the Saint of Killers.

‘ _I’m here son,’_ was the reluctant reply.

“I have to do this,” he said.

The Saint’s face hardened. _‘You know what the consequences are. I won’t let you throw away your soul.’_

“You lost any say in my life the minute you left for Mexico,” Randy told him, his voice devoid of emotion. For the first time since Benoit, he regarded the Saint of Killers without hatred or contempt, just a bone-deep weariness.

‘ _I never intended for you to get involved in this,’_ the Saint of Killers said, his voice was full of gravel and cobwebs. And regret for so many things.

“But I am involved,” Randy said. He looked up at the spirit, his eyes flat. “When you came to me after Ted and Cody were tortured to death, you made it impossible for me to walk away.”

But the Saint wasn’t one to be swayed by guilt. _‘The answer is no. I will not condemn you for eternity.’_

They regarded each other, both determined to get their way. Somewhere outside, the Beast moved closer.

“Will you condemn me to die at the hands of the Beast?” Randy asked, his voice soft.

‘ _If I must,’_ was the merciless reply of a man who had undergone the tortures of hell itself because he could not let go of his vengeance for his family. _’You could run.’_

But Randy had been bred from the same unyielding stock. “And if I do, what about the kid in there? He can’t kill the Beast the way he is now. Would you have me save myself and leave him as a sacrifice?”

‘ _If it saves your soul, then yes.’_ The Saint was as movable as bedrock. But he hadn’t anticipated how far Randy was willing to go either.

“You’re forgetting something,” Randy said quietly.

‘ _What?’_

Eyes flat, Randy played his trump card. “Ambrose. If Reigns dies because I ran away, he will hunt me down. And when he does, it won’t be hard to convince him to use one of those Walkers on me." Being killed by a Colt Walker would utterly destroy his soul. It would be a victory of sorts over the stubborn Saint. Not the one he wanted, but he would take what he could get.

‘ _You wouldn’t!’_ the Saint snarled with rage, but there was fear in his voice as well. Ambrose was a wild card and the Saint knew he could not control what Dean did, especially if Roman died a horrific needless death. If he denied Dean the Colts, he would lose all his soldiers and the demons would take over. He now saw the trap Randy had set.

“Try me,” Randy challenged.

For long seconds they glared at each other, and then, incredibly, the Saint flinched. Seeing the spirit drop his gaze, Randy knew he won. But there was no feeling of triumph, only the vague sense of horror. From the other room, he heard Roman gasp and Mark tell him to hold still. Then Randy turned around and came back into the room. He stood next to Roman and spoke to gravely injured man, reaching out a hand to smooth back the long sweaty hair from Roman’s forehead in an uncharacteristic show of affection and reassurance. “Shh, it’s okay, Reigns. I got this.”

“What’s going on?” John asked, concerned.

“I’m going to deal with the Beast,” Randy told them. “Reigns, just get some rest. Mark knows what he's doing.”

“Wait, you're not cut off anymore?” John asked, trying to keep up with events. “What about your soul?”

But Roman was shaking his head. “Don’t let him do this,” he pleaded to John, his voice slurring with weakness and the onset of delirium.

“Killing those demons is more important than saving my soul,” Randy said ignoring Roman as he handed his guns to Mark. His wounded arm was throbbing and he doubted he could fast draw with it. But he only needed one to deal with the Beast. He pulled his shirt back on.

Mark was frowning but he didn't argue. “There is no going back from this,” he warned. As distracted as they were, neither Randy nor John thought to question how Mark knew what they were talking about.

“I know,” Randy replied. He could feel the Beast’s presence coming nearer, like a hot wind. The price meant nothing. Then Randy turned to go back into the front office, and to John’s amazement he saw the Colt Walkers coalesce in Randy’s gun belt. “Wait!” he protested, reaching out to grab Randy’s arm, but it was the Saint of Killers who was standing in front of him now. John said before he could think, “Don’t let him do this!”

“ _It’s his choice_ ,” the Saint replied and in the pale green eyes there was no hate or malice, only a terrible, terrible grief.

John swallowed hard and stepped back from the Outlaw Angel of Death, who once again set out to do battle against a demon.

TBC

_Buffalo rifles can shoot with incredible accuracy over ¾ of a mile. I saw one demonstrated and it was very scary how you can see the target move well before you hear the report._

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Seth pursue the man who shot Roman.

_Warnings: Angst, past torture, swearing and violence_

 

_As always, huge huge thank-yous to kiss316 for pointing out stuff!_

 

**Legend Killer Chapter 13**

 

The paint gelding strained for breath in the thin air as Seth urged it up the slope of the mountain even faster. Despite the gelding being from excellent stock and Seth himself a top-notch rider, they were unable to gain any ground on Dean. Ambrose had too much of a head start and that sorrel mustang of his was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Far ahead and above, he caught a glimpse of Dean holding one of his regular revolvers in his hand, ready to shoot the minute a target presented itself. He hoped that Dean's gunslinger reflexes were their usual lightning speed because if the shooter got Dean...

Despite willingly having obeyed Randy’s order to leave the gravely wounded Roman in his and John’s care, Seth still hated himself. He completely understood Randy’s reasoning though, because if Roman died then everything was on Dean. And it wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in Dean, far from it. But Dean was mentally unstable and his tendency to follow his own unpredictable instincts and twisted logic often led him into danger, case in point. Roman was the reliable one whom Seth always counted on to be there.

And if Roman died, (oh god if Roman died) then Dean alone would wield the Angel of Death's guns until another dying killer prayed for their life. Underneath Seth, the paint stumbled over the rocky ground but was able to regain its balance and forge on. White lather dripped from the horse’s neck where the reins rubbed against the sweat. Frustrated, he dug his spurs into the paint gelding’s sides, asking for even more from the animal. Seth wasn’t a religious man, but now all he could do was pray to any deity who happened to be paying attention that Roman and Dean would be okay.

Further up the mountain, as he closed in on the spot where he thought the shot had originated, Dean guided his sorrel in an uneven slalom through the pine trees to ensure whoever shot Roman couldn’t be able to get a clear shot on him. Climbing a mountain took a significant amount of time even on horseback and presented far more opportunities to a shooter. That thought was far in the background of his mind however, almost instinctive. He was far more concerned about letting the shooter get away alive. Even though he never once took his eyes off of the place, the trees and rocks often obscured his view and he fretted that the shooter could slip away. He gritted his teeth in frustration and urged the horse to go faster. The horse itself was blowing like a freight train, nostrils flaring red but Dean didn’t let up. They finally reached the rocky area and Dean sat up to aim his revolver, pulling the sorrel to a stop so hard the horse gaped its mouth against the pressure of the bit on its tongue and bowed its chin into its chest.

“Fuck!”

The spot was empty but he could clearly see where the grass had been flattened by someone who had recently lain there. “Where is he, where is he, where is he,” Dean muttered aloud to himself. Glancing around, he could see Seth frantically urging his horse up the mountain after him. Much further below, he could barely make out Randy and John, still crouching over Roman. He couldn’t tell if Roman was alive or not. Seeing that sight further enraged Dean and he returned his gaze to the ground. He spun the heaving sorrel in a circle, looking for tracks.

There!

Leading away from the spot around to the other side of the mountain, faint boot prints gave way to easier-to-follow hoof prints. The trail led through the rock-strewn grasses heading deeper into the trees and down the backside of the mountain. He spurred the sorrel gelding again and the horse took off, jumping rocks and skidding down the slippery carpet of pine needles. Finally, they hit level ground at the base of the mountain and Dean smacked the ends of the reins on the horse’s rump. The horse responded by bolting so fast Dean had to grab a handful of mane to keep from falling off backwards. The trees blurred by as they raced past. He looked up and saw a clearing ahead of them and leaned to turn the horse before they barreled right into the open. Instinct warned Dean and he ducked a split second before a bullet slammed into a tree beside him, the buzzing of its passage was loud in his ears. Furious, he hauled back on the reins and just as the horse slid to a stop, he dove out of the saddle, rolling with the momentum and ended up with his back pressed against the trunk of a tree, keeping the pine between himself and the shooter.

He nearly passed out from the pain as his cracked ribs screamed at him, and he felt the sharp stinging where the stitches on his chest and back had torn loose from his fall. Black spots swam in his vision but he ignored the pain as he gripped his revolver tight and took a breath. He had a general idea of where the bullet had originated from. That would be enough. He looked down at his chest; blood was soaking through his shirt. He gritted his teeth at the pain, and then ignored it. He had more important things to do, like kill a man. He checked the load of his gun. Despite the silence, Dean was sure the guy was still in the area.

Then the quiet was broken by Seth’s paint sliding to a stop nearby. A quick look in that direction told him that Seth had drawn his revolver too, his hands still covered in Roman's blood. Seth quickly dismounted and took cover when he saw Dean’s horse nearby, breathing heavily and head hanging low. Strangely enough, the shooter did not take a shot at Seth. Dean frowned but waved a hand to catch Seth’s attention. Seth hurried over and crouched next to Dean. Seth’s face was white when he saw the fresh blood on Dean’s shirt but his voice was steady as he asked, “Are you shot?” He reached out to touch Dean’s chest. _Oh god not Dean too…_

But Dean shook his head, screwing his eyes shut at the dizziness that followed. “No, just ripped some stitches.” He huffed a breath as his ribs protested.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Seth turned and scanned the area. “Did you get him?”

“Not yet,” Dean snarled, and then heaved himself back up to his feet, staggering enough that Seth had to put an arm out to steady him. Shaking his head to clear it Dean shouted to the general area. “Whoever you are, you are not getting out of this alive,” he called out. His voice was raw, hoarse and hard. “You can run, but we will hunt you down and tear you apart for shooting our friend.”

He was answered by silence. Not giving up, Dean shouted again, “You fucked up bad, mister. There is a US Marshal here and we will take your ass down.”

“I AM a US Marshal, you idiot,” was the calm reply, far closer than either Dean or Seth had anticipated. Both Seth and Dean gasped as they recognized the voice. It was US Marshal Dave Batista. Stepping out from behind a tree, he was holding a rifle on Dean, but hadn’t pulled the trigger yet. Seth broke out into a cold sweat as he realized that the only reason Dean was still alive was because Dave wished it.

“Batista you son of a bitch!” Dean snarled and was about to aim his revolver at the man, but Seth grabbed Dean’s arm. The lunatic didn’t care that Batista had his gun aimed right at him, finger on the trigger. No matter how fast Dean was, there was absolutely no chance of beating Batista. Placing himself in front of Dean, Seth watched Dave warily.

“Put the gun away, Ambrose,” Dave ordered. Snarling, Dean did as he was told. “Good, now both of you, lose the belts,” He gestured to their gun belts. Reluctantly, both Seth and Dean undid their buckles and dropped their weapons. There was no chance of tricking Dave with a border roll maneuver.

“Why’d you do it, Dave?” Seth asked. Dave was too good of a Marshal to randomly shoot people. He had to have known the identity of his target. And if that was the case, Seth realized they were in deep trouble. “Why’d you kill Roman?” He felt Dean's body stiffen beside him at that and he reached out to grab his friend's arm again. He hated letting Dean think the worst had happened but it was imperative that Dave didn’t know that Roman might be still alive.

“Orders. Reigns and Ambrose are to be killed on sight,” Dave said, keeping his eyes pinned on Seth. He seemed to be searching for something but Seth had no idea what.

“Whose orders?” Dean growled in his normal voice.

“Who gave you those orders?” Seth asked at the same time. He mentally breathed silent thanks when he realized that Batista was a human. Dean would not have stood in front of a demon without calling upon the Saint of Killers. Or maybe he would have, knowing Dean’s utter recklessness. But that was neither here nor there. He’d asked the question to stall for time. He already knew the answer. He needed time to come up with a plan to save Dean.

As if he were able to read Seth’s mind, Dave smirked. ”You know who gives me my orders.”

“Hunter,” Dean said. It wasn’t a guess. The only person who could give a Marshal an order was a judge.

“Of course it was Hunter. Did you really think he wouldn’t see right through your story, Rollins?” Dave shrugged a single shoulder, the gun never wavering and his gaze was razor sharp. The man had been a Marshal longer than Dean and Seth’s time combined and he was too experienced to let them get any advantage over him. “Hunter knows about Ambrose and Reigns deserting and turned outlaw. I’ve heard they’ve murdered the town’s deputies, the banker and the mayor’s aide. And they plan to murder the Sheriff. I think that’s enough to justify a Kill On Sight order, don’t you? Now, do you have any other stupid questions to ask?” Dave was never one to beat around the bush.

Seth felt all the air go out of his lungs. Swallowing hard to get some moisture back into his mouth, he croaked, “How did Hunter know?” Hunter had given _no_ indication at all that he hadn’t believed Seth. And how _the fuck_ did Hunter know exactly what Seth, Dean and Roman had been doing? Keeping a firm hand on Dean’s arm, Seth could feel it shaking but he needed information, needed to know where he messed up.

And most important he needed to find a way get to Dean out of this alive.

Giving Seth a strange look, Dave replied, “Hunter just knows things. I learned a long time ago not to ask questions and follow orders. And my orders are to kill Reigns and Ambrose.” He hesitated and then frowned, glaring at Seth. “But not you. He wants you alive.”

Dean started to struggle against Seth’s hold when he heard that. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch,” he vowed.

Ignoring Dean, Dave kept his eyes on Seth. “Move out of the way Rollins,” he ordered, raising the rifle. “Ambrose is going to die for his crimes. However, even if I can’t kill you, I have no issue with shooting you in the kneecap and dragging your lying ass back to Hunter.”

“Dave, listen to me,” Seth said through gritted teeth, hanging onto Dean’s arm for dear life. He wasn’t going to let Dean get shot because of his own hotheadedness. “This isn’t what you think. Hunter is lying to you.”

Cocking his head to the side, Dave paused and considered Seth. “That’s a bold claim, Rollins. Accusing a federal judge of lying is a serious charge. Are you going to tell me that Reigns and Ambrose didn’t kill several deputies and civilians in cold blood?”

“No,” Seth answered honestly. He felt Dean’s startled gaze on him, but ignored it. His entire focus was on Dave Batista. “They did it, but there are circumstances that you don’t know about.”

Batista blinked in surprise at Seth’s flat-out admission of their guilt. “Well, let’s hear them,” he invited after a few heartbeats.

The fact that was willing to listen gave Seth hope that Dave might have reservations about Hunter. He tried to build on it. “After Roman pissed off Hunter, he sent the three of us out to be ambushed by the Wyatt family. You remember them? They knew we were coming for them, Roman specifically.” He wasn’t sure how to broach the demon part of the issue yet. But if he could just get Dave to listen, they might have a chance. “They set a trap for us. Hunter even sent Glenn out to see if it worked.”

“Do you have proof?” Dave asked. He still hadn’t lowered his rifle but he was listening. Ambushing a US Marshal was serious. Setting up three for an ambush by sadistic outlaws was reprehensible.

“They knew we were coming. Bray Wyatt told us,” Seth said.

But Dave looked skeptical. “Bray Wyatt told you. And you believed him?”

“Yes.”

Blowing out a breath, Dave asked, “Did he name Judge Hunter specifically?” This was the most important question.

“No,” Seth said reluctantly.

“This is such bullshit!” Dean snarled. “We all know Hunter is dirty, why does it matter if Wyatt named him explicitly or not?”

“Because Hunter has his father-in-law on the US Supreme Court backing him! Do you think Judge McMahon will believe the word of a lying deputy, a dead murderer and a deserter over his son-in-law?” Dave snapped. “It doesn’t help your case to be running around killing lawmen, you moron! What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I am thinking they are all demons!” Dean shouted back, finally getting his arm free from Seth's grip. He glared at Dave. His wild eyes made him look as insane as his words. “Bray Wyatt and his family, Sheriff Barrett and his deputies Are All DEMONS!”

Seth almost screamed in frustration as he watched their credibility fly out the window and Dave, who had seemed to be on the verge of listening to their story, sneered at Dean. “Demons? Really? That’s your story? I always thought you were nuts, Ambrose. Now I know for sure. ”

“Dave, I know it’s hard to believe,” Seth said frantically trying to salvage something of the situation. “But Dean’s not lying.” He stepped up right in front of Dave’s rifle, holding his gaze with determination. “He’s right,” he said again. “The Wyatts were demons. So are Sheriff Barrett and his deputies.”

“Seth...” Dean started to say something but Seth only wanted Dean to shut the hell up while he tried to undo the damage Dean’s claim did to their credibility. He hadn’t noticed how utterly still everything was around them. All his attention was on Batista. “Dean, shut up!” he ordered never looking away from Dave. “Dave, I swear we are telling the truth. We’ve seen them!” he insisted.

“Seth...” Dean tried again more urgently, shaking Seth’s arm to get his attention but Seth was done with Dean’s recklessness. He jerked his arm free with a hiss of annoyance.

Looking between the two of them, Dave shook his head, “I'm putting an end to this insanity now. Move out of the way Rollins, unless you want to be crippled the rest of your life.” He swung the rifle up and aimed it at Dean who was looking away, at something Seth couldn’t see.

“No!” Seth shouted as he moved the keep his body between Dean and Batista. The report of a gun firing filled his ears and he braced himself to feel the rush of pain from a bullet. But instead of hot lead, Seth was abruptly shoved to the ground by Dean. Dean himself was diving away just as more bullets flew by directly where the lunatic had been standing a bare second before. Dave, never one to be caught off-guard, was still on his feet but had taken cover behind a nearby tree trunk. He turned the rifle in the direction the bullets had come from and looked for a target to shoot. Seth looked around frantically for Dean, but the lunatic had disappeared into the brush.

There was a pause in the bullet storm and then a horribly familiar voice called out, “Finally found you!” Wade Barrett, his eyes solid black, strolled into view. Blood from where he had been shot a few hours earlier was still seeping down his chest, staining his shirt. But what should have been a fatal wound to a human was barely a scratch to a demon. There was a creepy smile on his face like he was enjoying a huge, private joke. His skin was pure white with very prominent deep blue veins.

From his hiding spot, Dean could clearly see the demon inside the human shell. This was the same creature that tortured him the day before. His lips twisted in into a snarled of rage and mentally called out, ' _Hey get your ass over here old man_ ,' borrowing Randy’s nickname for the Saint, ' _the fucking_ _Nexus is here'_.

There was no answer.

Nearby, Seth was waiting with wide, expectant eyes. If Dean summoned the Saint now, he would be focused on Wade and it was up to Seth to prevent Dave from interfering. Luckily Dave’s attention was on Wade. Seth looked around for his gun belt, but it was out of reach and he would be too exposed if he made for it. He needed to wait for his opportunity.

Annoyed at the lack of response from the Saint, Dean mentally called again. ' _God dammit old man, where the fuck are you_?' he demanded. Wade’s proximity made his skin crawl and all he wanted to shut the son of a bitch up, permanently.

“Don't bother, Moxley,” Barrett called to him as if he could read Dean's mind. “Your precious Saint is dealing with the Beast. And while he is, I am going to kill you and get myself a couple of new recruits.” He nodded in Seth and Batista’s direction, who was glaring in puzzlement not realizing just exactly he was dealing with. He snapped off a few more rounds in Dean’s direction.

Seeing Barrett's badge, Dave called to Barrett. “Aren't you the local Sheriff, Wade Barrett?” he asked, stepping out from behind the tree. Even though he was a mere human, he could feel something 'off' about Barrett and he didn't lower the rifle. “You know it’s a federal crime to shoot at a US Marshal.” His voice was calm, but there was an element of rage underneath. “Put the gun down.”

“All I want is to kill Moxley here,” Barrett drawled as he shot a nasty look in Dean’s direction. “You yourself said he was Kill On Sight and I am well within my rights to shoot him.”

“God dammit old man, where the fuck are you?” Dean shouted in frustration, giving his location away. Dave looked over at him with raised eyebrows and Wade laughed and raised his gun, aiming at Dean. Seth was starting to leap forward to shield his brother with his body, knowing he could never get there in time…

And then the Saint came and everything changed.

An icy wind roared through the clearing and even Dean didn’t recognize the spirit when it appeared. It was nothing like the previous encounters. Before the Saint of Killers had been a presence that he could almost relate to. It had a personality. It looked like their friend Mark Calaway for fuck’s sake. But this? This was rage, cold and hard like old ice. Like the lowest pit of Dante’s hell. For the first time Dean saw the spirit in all its unleashed fury and it was nothing like he had ever imagined.

Dave and Seth fell back, not able to see it but the _feel_ of it staggered them. Barrett was all but forgotten in the awesome and terrifying arrival of the Saint. But it never occurred to Dean to be intimidated, even by this version of Saint of Killers. “What took you so long?” he demanded.

The Saint of Killers didn’t answer. His eyes glowed pure white and his face was as expressive as granite. Finally Dean truly believed this was something that endured the tortures of hell by the sheer amount of cold hate in its being. He paused, then asked, “What happened, what changed?”

There was no indication the Saint heard him. Instead, the spirit walked toward him, and then _into_ him. The awful bitter rage was filling him and Dean would have screamed if he had been physically able to. The Saint’s hate and rage were so _cold_ that it burnedand Dean felt how much the Saint had been holding back in their previous encounters _._ In its wrath, the Saint unleashed its full power and Dean was utterly helpless against it. His soul ached from the spirit’s deep cold hate. And then with no consideration for what it was doing to Dean, the Saint drew a Colt Walker, shot Barrett in the head and disappeared, leaving Dean mercifully unconscious on the ground.

The thunder of the Colt Walker faded after rolling off the nearby mountains and for several long heartbeats there was nothing but silence. Then Dave drew a gasping breath. The echo of Ambrose's ridiculously big revolver still reverberated in his mind. But was worse was the expressionless face of Ambrose before he had shot Barrett. Those white eyes had been devoid of humanity, even Dean’s insane brand. It felt like Death itself had stood a mere few feet from him and then turned away. He shuddered again. “What the fuck was that?” he asked in horror, swinging the rifle back to cover Seth who had run to Dean. “What the hell was wrong with Barrett?” Dave asked, trying to get his mind around what had just happened. “Was it rabies or something?”

“That was a demon,” Seth told him from the where he crouched next to Dean. He felt Dean’s neck for pulse with one hand, keeping the other in Batista’s sight at all times. He had never seen such an expression of agony on Dean’s face, right before the frightening blankness overtook it as he killed Barrett, and wondered what it meant. His friend had taken such a beating lately Seth was starting to get scared that he might lose both Roman and Dean. But there was nothing he could do for Roman. Dean on the other hand was still his responsibility. If he could keep Dave's focus away from Dean long enough...the beginning of a plan started to form in his mind. Dave looked spooked enough to start shooting without provocation. Despite being completely off-kilter by what he had just witnessed, Dave had the presence of mind to keep the rifle aimed at Seth and his finger in the trigger.

“Bullshit,” Batista said. “It had to have been rabies.” His eyes were still a bit bugged out but he was recovering his poise quickly.

Impatiently, Seth snapped, “Use your eyes, Dave! He wasn’t foaming at the mouth, he wasn’t staggering. I’m telling you that it was a demon. Look, I know it’s hard to believe but it’s true.” Sighing, Seth stood up and walked towards Wade's corpse. “Look over here,” he said, pointing to the body. “You see that? He had been shot before; right in the chest If Barrett had been normal that bullet would have killed him.”

“Then how did Ambrose kill him?” Dave asked, taking a few steps in that direction so he could see the remains of the demon-infested human more clearly.

“The gun is a special Colt Walker designed to kill demons.” And other things but Batista didn’t need to know that.

“Where did Ambrose get it? And where did it go?” There was no sign of the gun now and that had Batista spooked more than anything. “Where did you hide it?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Seth said patiently while trying to keep Dave's attention on himself. “We found it while we were dealing with the Wyatts.” Seeing as it would be a while before Dean recovered and Dave hadn't shot him yet, Seth explained the situation, starting with the set up by Hunter, being ambushed by the Wyatts, Roman meeting the Saint of Killers, and finally Carcosa. As Seth spun the long version of the tale, a bird chirped nearby and a squirrel darted across a branch. The normal forest sounds were starting to resume, but there was still a subdued quietness in the area. He waited for Dave’s reaction.

“If I were to believe what you’re saying, and that’s a big if, are you absolutely sure it was Hunter that set you up?” Dave asked at length.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. It was too much like what happened to Orton to be a coincidence.” Seth had an idea and wanted to test Dave’s reaction to Randy’s name, and Dave's expression told him he'd hit paydirt.

“Wait, how the fuck does Orton fit in?” Dave asked, finally forgetting about Dean which was Seth's plan all along.

“The same thing happened to him,” Seth said. “Randy and his deputies were set up to be fed to the Benoit.”

“Benoit was a demon?” Dave went pale.

“Yeah. A rather nasty one too.” Seth said, mercilessly.

“Oh Hunter you fucking bastard,” Dave muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Seth could guess but he wanted Dave to say it out loud. The man wiped a hand over his face and lowered the rifle a bit. Not far enough for Seth to do anything though.

“When Ric and I captured Benoit and his men, Hunter ordered me to give Benoit the key to the prison wagon. He said he wanted test Orton to see if he could handle a prisoner escaping. Fuck, you have to believe me. I didn’t know!”

“That you handed Randy and those kids to a demon on a silver platter to be tortured and killed?” Seth finished for him fighting to control his disgust. Dave looked horrified and ashamed and Seth was glad for it. But his real anger was directed towards Hunter, for what he did to Randy, and to Roman and Dean.

“Did you hear what happened to those boys?” Dave asked, looking sick.

Seth shook his head. Randy refused to talk about it. The men that found and rescued Randy had vanished soon after they brought him back to Mark. Even the nosiest of deputy Marshals hadn’t been able to find out any of the details about the incident. Ted and Cody had been buried quietly in graves in the area where they had died.

“I talked to one of the men that found Orton and saw the bodies. Benoit and his men were dead of a single bullet wound. But Dibiasi and Rhodes had been hung from the prison wagon. Their backs had been cut open and their lungs had been pulled out like wings, while they were still alive. They lived for a while after. Randy had been tied down to the ground and forced to watch. He managed to get free and kill Benoit and the two others but he was gutshot and feverish from the burns on his shoulders. He was still trying to cut those boys down when they found them.”

“My god,” Seth looked down and away, trying to hide his horror from Dave.

“Hunter thought that watching those boys die was the reason Orton went crazy and started killing people. But I never understood how watching your friends tortured in front of you would make you kill innocent people.”

“He wasn’t crazy,” Seth said, still feeling sick for Randy. Not even Bray Wyatt had done something so depraved. “Every person he ‘murdered’ starting with Benoit was a demon.”

“Fuck,” Dave swore quietly.

Seeing Barrett’s body, Seth was reminded of something else and he shook his head. “Oh yeah, we have another dead US Marshal now too,” he sighed. Seeing Dave’s puzzled expression, he explained about Cena being tainted with demon blood. “So he’s probably dead now.”

“Christ,” Dave said, damned near overwhelmed by what he had just learned. He looked back at Dean, who was pale and still. “Is it always like that?” Seeing Seth’s quizzical look, he clarified. “The Saint. The possession. Is it always so cold and violent?”

That had honestly scared Seth. “No, that’s the first time I’ve seen him like that,” he said. “Dean seemed to think something happened.” Fuck, what had happened? No way of finding out until Dean woke up and told him though. Keeping his mind focused on the task at hand, he asked, “So how is this going to play out, Dave? Are you going to kill Dean and bring me back to Hunter?”

Torn, Dave shifted from foot to foot. “An hour ago I had all the answers. But now...look, I saw what happened and I’m not a fool. And it’s obvious that Hunter's been using me,” he nodded at Seth. “I’m done with this shit. Hunter can do his own dirty work for once.”

“Good,” Seth said, satisfied. “I’d advise you to leave the country. After what you did, both Ambrose and Orton are coming after you.”

“Rollins, listen. I know you aren’t telling me everything, and if even half of what you are saying is true, it’s scaring the shit out of me,” Dave said, lowering his rifle completely now. Seth raised an eyebrow at that but Dave shook his head and slung the rifle over his shoulder. “I have no idea if I can ever make it up to Orton or to Ambrose but I want to try.”

Trying not to look surprised, Seth smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. “I’m not sure how you can do that. Shooting Roman was unforgivable.” He swallowed hard and looked away. His last memory of Roman was of Randy and John crouched over his friend, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of his chest. But Roman was still alive when Seth left and for that reason alone, he had hope. It was strange how Hunter had known where Roman and Dean were.

“I know and I’m sorry. Look, Hunter and I go way back and I think he still trusts me. I can help you figure out how Hunter knows about what you’ve been doing. You need to know how he gets his information and how to stop him”.

“That would be handy,” Seth admitted. He then asked the question that had been bothering him since this whole thing began. “Why do you think Hunter is helping demons?”

Batista stared at Seth. His first instinct was to deny it. But he couldn’t. There was too much evidence. “I have no idea,” he finally said. “I would hope that it’s all a misunderstanding, but…” he shrugged helplessly.

“Find out,” Seth said briskly, keeping Dave's attention on himself. “And when you do, find me.” Seeing Dave’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “Hunter knows about us. I can’t go back.”

“Okay, I’ll figure out something,” Dave said, not seeing the movement behind him.

“Be careful,” Seth warned. “Until we can figure out how he knows, you’ll likely be in danger.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Batista said and held out his hand. Seth reached out to shake it when the report of a gun rolled off the mountains, the echo dying gradually. Dave staggered briefly, but regained his balance. He swallowed and coughed, the thick blood choking him. He opened his mouth to say something to Seth, but blood poured out instead. Impassive, Seth watched Dave sink to his knees, blood pouring out of mouth and down the front his shirt. Then he slumped to the ground, dead.

“About time,” Seth said.

Dean moved into a sitting position, pale as a ghost but his indomitable will to avenge his brother was stronger than ever. He looked at Batista's body, cocking his head to one side. “That was for Roman you son of a bitch.”

Seth drew in a breath. “And for Orton.” What that guy had lived through...

“Nah,” Dean said, his eyes were hard. “That one's on Hunter. What do you say, brother? Shall we go judge hunting?”

TBC

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randy is confronted by a new player in the game. It ends as well as can be expected.

**And as always a big, huge thank you to Kiss316 for going over the chapter and pointing out inconsistencies, asking questions and being awesome in general. You rock!**

**Legend Killer 14**

 

As he watched Randy turn to leave the room, John got the feeling he was missing something extremely important. That something terrible was about to happen but he had no idea what. All he knew was that he was at a loss on how to stop Randy from going out there and destroying his soul.

 

On the table Roman finally slipped into unconsciousness, yet it was obvious the young man was still in agony. His long hair was wringing wet with sweat and his face was lined of pain. His breathing was shallow. Usually Roman Reigns was the picture of strength and vitality. There was something quietly invincible about Roman. But injured like he was, he looked young and vulnerable. If he were to be found by the Beast or the Nexus, he would be helpless to defend himself. Randy’s whispered words from that morning as they stood side by side and watched the sun come up came back to John.

 

‘ _I can’t keep them alive.’_

 

And suddenly John thought he could understand why Randy was doing what he was doing.

 

But Roman wasn’t dead yet. He would need a lot more time and care before he got back on his feet _but he was still alive_. And that gave John hope that somehow they could make it through the day.

 

Then Mark spoke up. “Wait, just hold up a second,” he said, his voice mild but the Saint of Killers paused at the request, looking back at them. John looked over at Mark and thought he saw a brief look of infinite sadness cross the doctor’s face but it was gone before he was sure. “There is nothing more _medically_ I can do for him right now but we both know he is still in great danger. Let me get Reigns out of here before you go out there. The Beast is close and so is the Mayor. If either of them find him, Reigns doesn't stand a chance. And if this goes bad, you can’t afford to lose both of them.”

 

Briefly the Saint considered and then nodded in assent. He set his feet, waiting, the pale green eyes watching the room like a hawk. Mark turned to John. “My wagon is out back. Check to see if there is anyone out there.”

 

John went to the back door and opened it cautiously, taking his time in scanning the area as he searched for threats. Randy’s, John’s and Roman's horses were standing ground-tied nearby, but further down he saw a large pale horse hitched to a small wagon. He didn't see anything more hostile than a cat lurking nearby, but he remained on guard. “It’s clear,” he reported.

 

“Good. Get Reigns into the wagon.” Mark started gathering some bandages and other supplies. While John didn't have Randy's supernatural strength, he was still very strong for a human. He picked up Reigns' limp body like a child's, careful of the bandages and maneuvered the unconscious man out through the back door. He laid Roman as gently as he could into the back of the wagon. Mark followed with a blanket which he spread over Roman, covering him from his chin to his feet. John looked over at the horses and on impulse tied the reins of Roman’s horse to the back of the wagon, just in case. Mark tossed his bag into the back of the wagon beside Roman and turned to John. “You stay with Orton.”

 

John looked at Mark with uncertainty. He was more than willing but wasn’t sure how he could help Randy. “What can I do against the Beast?” he asked.

 

“Nothing. But you do realize even though that boy has the most powerful weapon ever created at his beck and call, he can still die? And if anything happens to him…” Mark paused. “He needs someone to watch his back, or there will be consequences,” he said firmly. Even though his mild tone never changed, John got the feeling the consequences Mark was referring to were something they really didn’t want to deal with.

 

Mark went on. “He’s used to going it alone. But it would be better for all of us if he were to have a partner he could actually trust.” The man sounded almost fond of the Legend Killer. John wondered why but obviously Mark had no intention of telling him the history between himself and Randy Orton right then. “These boys need help if they are going to win this war. They can’t do it by themselves.”

 

Knowing how much Seth contributed even if he wasn’t a vessel for the Saint of Killers, John understood. “I’ll do my best but I don’t think he’s the trusting type. Besides, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be alive.”

 

Teeth bared in a terrifying smile Mark said, “That holds true for all of us.” He clapped John on the shoulder, who had a hard time not staggering under the impact and turned to climb into the wagon. The wagon groaned at the added weight but it steadied as Mark settled into the driver's seat. He picked up the reins.

 

“Wait,” John said. Something had been bothering him about the doctor since Mark first acknowledged Orton. “You seem to know a lot about what’s going on. Are you one of them?” he asked. Seeing Mark's inquiring look, he clarified his remark. “One of the Saint's men?”

 

“Nope, I’m just a simple country doctor.” Mark slapped the reins across the horse’s rump to get it moving. John watched the wagon carrying Mark and Roman drive away for a few seconds, and then reentered the doctor’s office. Randy was nowhere to be seen. John listened but only heard an entirely unnatural silence. A brief stab of panic flashed through him and he hurried through the doctor’s building to the front, pausing briefly before opening the door. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the area was empty except for Randy who was standing out in the open, facing up the street. It seemed that the rest of the town’s population had found somewhere else to be. It struck John as he looked at Randy how powerful the Legend Killer was, and yet he seemed very much alone.

 

A movement caught his eye. A man, shortish, pudgy and balding on the top of his head, strolled out into the street towards Orton, stopping prudently several feet away. He was dressed in a suit and something about him just screamed ‘shyster’. He looked up at the Saint of Killers with wide eyes, sweat dripping down his temples and into the rolls of his chin. He paled when Randy turned his dead-eyed gaze to him. He cleared his throat and quaked visibly. “Mr. Saint of Killers? My name is Paul Heyman and I am the advocate for the being known as The Beast. Mr. Saint of Killers, I know you are here to slay The Beast but I am here to tell you The Beast will not be slain by you.”

 

Randy said nothing, but John couldn’t help it. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked as he moved over to stand beside Randy. John had met many lawyers over the course of his law-enforcement days, some were better than others. But there was something about Heyman’s soulless eyes that reminded him a scorpion sunning itself on a rock. He knew this man could only be trusted to sell out his own mother.

 

The Saint merely stared at Heyman, who audibly gulped but didn’t back down. “My cah-lient has reached an understanding with another party who has interests here in this realm. As a result, my client The Beast is not to be harmed, or attacked in any way by the Saint of Killers or his men. Any unauthorized aggression against my client The Beast will result in swift retribution, as you have already discovered.” Heyman actually had the nerve to smirk in satisfaction. They all knew to whom he was referring to.

 

Edge.

 

This whole situation made absolutely no sense to John, and apparently the Saint wasn’t buying it either. Randy casually put a hand on the butt of one of the holstered Colt Walkers and Heyman’s face got even whiter. He shook in his shoes and tried again. “Puh-Please, Mr. Saint of Killers, I promise you an agreement has been made. Killing me and my client The Beast will bring down a wrath upon your men that will leave them all dead and even worse, denied an afterlife. And you yourself will be powerless to interact with any human beings until the next war breaks out, which is in about ten years if I understand it right.”

 

“How do you know all this?” John asked in consternation. Had everyone on the planet known about demons and the Saint of Killers except him? If he got back out East, he was going to track down his teachers and demand to know why they never thought to include this bit of information in his education. On second thought, maybe he needed to hunt down his priest…

 

Glaring at John in disdain, Heyman sneered. “Do you think your friend here is the only being in this realm that has access to higher powers? There are many, many different individuals walking around that don’t like the Saint of Killers. And with damned good reason! He has many enemies! He is a murderer! The Saint of Killers irresponsibly murdered the master of Hell, Satan. You can’t have someone like that running around not answering to anyone! He is a rabid dog that has been allowed to run loose for too long! He needs to be put on a leash or put down!” Heyman ranted, only to stop when Randy narrowed his eyes.

 

“Well, you are certainly entitled to your opinion,” John started, but Heyman preferred the sound of his own voice to John’s.

 

“It isn’t just _my_ opinion, Mr. Marshal!” Heyman stated, but John hated being interrupted. “Do you really know who this is?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

 

“I know this is the Saint of Killers! I know he has weapons made from the Angel of Death’s sword before he disappeared! I know he killed Satan before leaving hell! I know that now demons are escaping from hell and into our realm! I know the Saint of Killers had been using mortal men to wield those guns in our realm! I know the Saint of Killers has been killing demons at the cost of his own men’s souls!” Paul glared at John, finding that easier than looking Randy in the eyes. “The Saint of Killers is not the only higher power operating in this realm and now this renegade will be reined in, exactly how it’s supposed to be!”

 

“You seem to be very well informed, Mr. Heyman,” John observed. “Just who are these other parties you mention?”

 

“I can answer that,” a new voice called. Mayor Shawn Michaels was striding towards them with a self-confident swagger. He was dressed all in white and his long golden hair reflected the sun like a halo. There was a smile on the man’s face that never wavered but to John, who had spent years learning how to read people, the smile wasn’t exactly warm and friendly. In fact, if he were pressed to describe it, it looked more like a snarl. If he had never met the Saint of Killers, John might have even felt a bit uneasy in the mayor’s presence. But despite that, John thought the cocky swagger of his walk was a cover. With a jolt of insight, he realized that Michaels was definitely wary of the Saint and doing his best to hide it.

 

For the first time the Saint of Killers reacted. “ _You finally decided to get involved_?” he growled, his voice sounded like rocks grinding against each other. John had to fight to stand still. Heyman looked like he was about to wet himself and even Michael hesitated at the rage in the Saint’s voice.

 

“You know this guy?” John asked.

 

But he didn’t get a reply from the Saint. Instead, Michaels turned his gaze to John. “We haven’t met personally but the Saint here killed my brother while he was in hell.”

 

“Your brother?” John asked completely confused.

 

“Lucifer, the morning star. He was my brother even after he fell from grace. The Saint murdered him.”

 

Holy shit. “Are you saying that you’re a…” John started but apparently Heyman decided he had been quiet for too long.

 

“The mayor here is a member and representative of the heavenly host,” the lawyer said. His beady eyes were fever-bright, shifting between Shawn and the Saint in a strange glee. “Lower lifeforms know them as angels.”

 

“No shit?” John asked in amazement. “Huh.” So there were angels around, which really shouldn’t have surprised him, having encountered several demons after all. And angels were supposed to be good, weren’t they? But after a closer look at Shawn and seeing how the Saint reacted to him, John wasn’t sure if he should feel hope or dread. Somehow Shawn was giving him a vibe that spoke of having his own agenda, and not necessarily one for the betterment of mankind. But still, if the guy was an angel…John looked over at Orton, whose expression hadn’t changed.

 

As the two higher beings stared at each other, Heyman started talking again. “It’s obvious the spirit known as the Saint of Killers cannot fight the demons he himself let loose from Hell without causing serious damage to the souls of the mortals he possesses. And it’s also obvious that he can’t keep the demons from invading this realm and inflicting serious suffering upon its citizens without the help of mortals. However, as the representative of The Beast, who has reached an agreement with heaven’s representative, Shawn Michaels, we are willing to make an offer,” Heyman said. The man’s confidence was astonishing considering who he was dealing with.

 

“What offer?” John asked, insanely curious on what they could possibly offer Death that would tempt him.

 

“Without someone giving you orders, you cannot be trusted to wield those weapons, ahem, _prudently_ and we ended up with the situation we have in Hell.” Michaels’ smile vanished and the angel glared at the Saint of Killers. But the Saint of Killers didn’t react. He just glared back at Michaels. But then the mayor recovered and smiled again. “So we, the angels and demons currently in this realm have come to an agreement. We agree that you need to work for the higher powers once again.”

 

“Sort of like, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?” John muttered to Randy, who didn’t respond.

 

Heyman pulled a sheaf of papers from the inner pocket of his suit coat. Making a show of unfolding them, he cleared his throat and stated, “From this point on The Saint of Killers will work for the combined forces of the realm of Heaven and its sub-realm Hell, carrying out orders and responsibilities for the office of the Angel of Death. Like you were supposed to all along. And to show there are no hard feelings, the representatives from Heaven will work to ensure the damaged souls of Dean Ambrose and the recently deceased Roman Reigns are able to move on.” Heyman looked up at Randy. “Of course you realize this is no small feat because Ambrose and Reigns were remorseless killers and are destined for hell. But once you start working with us, we will be willing review their cases due to the extenuating circumstances as a show of good faith.”

 

“You know about Reigns?” John asked surprised they didn’t know Roman was still alive and decided it was smart to play along. “It literally just happened.”

 

Heyman gave a long-suffering sigh. “Mr. Marshal, who do you think informed Marshal Batista that there are, or were, two deserters in the area?” Heyman asked, like John shouldn’t be so dense. “Marshal Batista accompanied The Beast here to Helena. Mayor Michaels took advantage of this convenient occurrence and requested the good Marshal help with an urgent issue of having two former deputy Marshals murdering the local law enforcement.”

 

“The ‘local law enforcement’ they killed were demons,” John argued. He refused to use the term ‘murdered’ when it came to demon disposal.

 

Heyman waved his hand in a shooing motion, papers crackling. “Irrelevant. What matters is the Saint has been killing without authorization. Once he starts doing what he’s supposed to do, mainly, working for the parties in agreement, he will no longer have to worry about his followers continuously being hunted down like the renegades they currently are. By now US Marshal Dave Batista has disposed of Dean Ambrose. And with Roman Reigns dead, the only mortal killer you have access to is your boy Randy here. And if the Saint continues to work unauthorized, then we will have no choice to but eliminate any future killers that join him.”

 

“ _It was you the whole time,”_ the Saint growled at Michaels. Randy still hadn’t moved but the air seemed to get a bit colder, despite the bright sun overhead.

 

Supremely confident, Heyman confirmed it. “You are finally catching on! Not the sharpest knife in the sheath, are you? Here is the message we are sending you: every follower you recruit will be eliminated until you agree to work for us.” Heyman was so smug John was tempted to punch him in the face.

 

“Your ‘partners’ killed Edge and the others?” John asked slowly.

 

“Oh, _we_ didn’t kill them personally, but we did whisper the right words in the right ears to ensure they met their demises in a timely manner.”

 

For the first time, Randy moved. His hand tightened on the grip of the Colt Walker.

 

Heyman noticed. “Finally figured out that Judge Hunter is one of our many allies, I see. But don’t worry, he is not the only one. There are many humans that are willing to do anything on the side of the angels.”

 

“What about Randy?” John asked. He was almost shivering now and Heyman was even pulling his suit coat closer around his round stomach. “You mentioned Ambrose and Reigns, but not him.”

 

The only being unaffected by the unnatural chill was Michaels who hadn’t looked away from the Saint of Killers. There was an air of peaceful confidence about him as he answered John’s question. “Oh, we would never dream of eliminating young Mr. Orton.”

 

“As we said, if the Saint of Killers refuses to work with us, any of his future followers will be eliminated. However, his boy gets to live a long life continuing to watch his ‘brothers’ die needlessly. And it will eat him alive. He already hates the Saint of Killers and blames him for having to carry on while everyone around him dies! How does it make you feel, Mr. Saint of Killers to know the only human being you can work through hates your guts! And since he is the only one you will be able to work through, it will be you that destroys his soul. And when he eventually dies, a very long time from now, Randy Orton will not have enough of a soul left to go anywhere. How does that feel, Mr. Saint of Killers, knowing your boy will pay the price for your continued defiance?” Heyman smirked.

 

When he heard that, the Saint’s eyes turned solid white. John later swore he could see his breath. Eyes wide, both John and Heyman instinctively backpedaled from the enraged spirit. For a long moment no one moved. The quiet was unnerving. Even the ever-present grinding of the mining equipment seemed muted. The air was so still, it was like nature itself was holding its breath. The glare of the sun illuminated the building lining the street in harsh relief.

 

“ _You set this up.”_

 

“I admit we did arrange for the young Marshal Orton to escort Benoit and his men.” Shawn smirked in self-satisfaction. With a serene confidence Michaels spoke up. “Given your history, we had to make it absolutely clear that unless you work for Heaven, you weren’t going to be able to work at all in this realm except through one person. The only one that matters to you. And in doing so, you will condemn him for eternity. But if you work for us, we will ensure your followers will be well protected. Face it, you need our help if only to retain your followers. Those guns were never meant to be wielded by anyone except the Angel of Death. But now, since he vanished without a trace and we are stuck with you, we needed to make it absolutely clear that your continued defiance will not be tolerated.”

 

“Where is the original Angel of Death?” John asked Heyman in a low voice.

 

“No one knows,” Heyman shrugged, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the two being in front of them. The power in the air was palpable.

 

“So if you want the souls of your men to get into Heaven and if you want any future recruits you might gain to work without interference, you will work for us. Are we agreed?” Michaels asked. He was still wary of the Saint. But Heyman had spelled it all out and the Saint of Killers would surely see reason.

 

Then the Saint spoke. “ _You set_ _ **my**_ _boy up, you helped the demons invading this realm to murder and torture not only civilians but those I have claimed as my own, because you want me to work for you?_ ” he asked in a low voice.

 

“Yes. So what’s your answer going to be?” Michaels was asking when the Colt Walked fired and Mayor Shawn Michaels, an angel, the representative of heaven, fell dead at their feet.

 

Both Paul and John stared wide-eyed in shock at Randy as the report of the Colt Walker rolled off the buildings and mountains. Heyman’s open mouth moved but for once no sound came out.

 

“Did…did you just kill an angel?” John asked in wonder. It never occurred to him or to Heyman apparently that the Saint could or would do just that.

 

“ _Arrogant cur,_ ” The Saint growled. Randy’s eyes glowed white with the Saint’s rage. The spirit was so furious that the bones of his skull showed clearly through his skin and now both Heyman and John moved back in terror. Death was there, in the street with them.

 

“ _You tell them,_ ” the Saint said to Heyman, who really did wet his pant. _“You tell them that I am coming for them! And there will be no mercy for I bring Hell with me!”_ His voice had grown from the soft growl to thunder. _“YOU TELL THEM!”_ And with that warning, he was gone.

 

Randy staggered as the spirit left him. John caught his arm before he fell on his face. He looked pale under his tan and his blue eyes were wide with shock and pain. His entire body was shivering. “He’s pissed,” he gasped.

 

The comment was such an understatement that John barked a laugh in surprise. “No shit,” he agreed. The air was warming up and there were signs the people who had sought refuge from the confrontation were coming back.

 

“We should get out of here,” John advised. The mayor’s body was still lying in the middle of the street, but Heyman was running away from them as fast as his legs could carry him. Randy had committed murder in front of god knows how many witnesses, and John hadn’t even tried to stop him. Sighing, he mentally kissed his US Marshal career good-bye. He was drawing a breath to suggest they get out of there when at the far end of the street _something_ appeared. It looked like a very large, very muscular man. Its skin was a pinkish red and the hair on its head was very blond. There was an almost visible aura radiating off of him and even mentally wrecked as he was, Randy’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

 

“Holy shit,” John muttered. “Is that the Beast?

 

“Yep,” Randy confirmed, squinting through his pounding headache. He instinctively reached for his guns but his holsters were empty.

 

“Any chance the Saint is coming back?” John asked, trying to sound casual. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted the spirit back though. Compared to the rage of the Saint of Killers, the Beast seemed to be the lesser of the two evils.

 

There was a pause, and then Randy shook his head, nearly vomiting at the movement. “He's not listening right now,” Randy wasn't sure he could physically take another round of the Saint in that mood anyway. He had never felt such cold rage.

 

“Great, so we get torn apart by the Beast while he has his little hissy fit?” John asked pulling Randy's arm over his shoulder and taking most of his weight as they slowing began to back away. Randy really didn’t look very well and John was concerned that he was going to pass out right there in the middle of the street.

 

“Given that he just killed an angel, I’d call it a little more than a hissy fit, but yes,” Randy said, looking around for an escape route.

 

Knowing that Randy was unarmed, John drew his gun and shot the Beast right through the head. Blood poured down the thing’s face. The Beast just laughed through the blood and started walking towards them. Heyman was smiling in satisfaction.

 

John looked at Randy. Randy looked at John.

 

“Run?” John suggested.

 

“Not sure that I can,” Randy admitted, trying and failing to take more of his own weight back from John. His knees seemed to be made out of rubber and the ground wouldn’t stay still beneath his feet.

 

The Beast moved to follow but Heyman shouted at the demon to stop. John practically dragged Randy through the doctor’s office, pausing long enough to scoop up Randy’s Smith and Wessons, and they staggered out the back, making straight for their horses. After pushing Randy onto his roan, the pain in his back and head forgotten in his haste, John swung up into his bay mare’s saddle. The mare rolled her eyes in panic at the proximity of the Beast. Beside him, Randy was leaning over the saddle horn and looking utterly miserable, but he put the spurs to his roan. They had barely cleared the alley when the Beast tore out of the building, the door flying clean off its hinges.

 

The horses bolted, running flat out towards the edge of town. The Beast followed, running easily.

 

“What do we do?” John shouted to Randy. The horses weren’t going to be able to sustain the pace for ever and the Beast didn’t look it was going to slow down anytime soon.

 

“Back to the cabin,” Randy suggested, trying to clear his head. If Punk’s earth spirit friends were still around, they might just slow the Beast long enough for them to get away. They guided the horses through the trees, jumping over ravines. Randy’s horse could gallop all day but John’s mare was starting to get winded. Then, for no reason either of them could fathom, the Beast stopped pursuing them.

 

“I don’t think he’s back there anymore,” John said after a while. His mare was lathered and starting to stumble a bit. But Randy wasn’t taking any chances. Despite feeling like utter crap, he pushed on, forcing John to spur the mare to keep up. Finally they approached the cabin. They pulled to stop right in front where Seth and Dean’s horses were tethered.

 

Seth came out with his revolver drawn, putting it away when he recognized them. “Where’s Roman? Is he…” he demanded, feeling a hot stab of panic race up his spine at seeing those two coming back alone and in a hurry. They had run the horses flat out all the way from town by the looks of them.

 

“He’s alive. He’s with Mark Calaway, who just so happened to be in town too,” Randy answered, sliding off the blowing roan and barely staying upright. Damn it was taking too long to recover from the Saint’s possession. He still felt cold and bruised.

 

Behind him, John had pulled his mare to a stop and jumped down. She hung her head in exhaustion, sweat and foam dripping down her belly as her sides heaved. He loosened her saddle and started walking her around to get her to cool down and catch her breath. He couldn’t afford to have her out of commission for long.

 

“Looks like we all had the same idea,” a freshly bandaged Dean observed as he came out of the cabin. He too looked like he had been through the wringer. He was carrying his saddlebags in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He slung the saddlebags over the back of his saddle and secured them. He and Seth decided it was time to take the fight to Hunter, but the appearance of Randy and John all hot and bothered meant that plan might have to be put on hold while they dealt with the latest crisis. “Is the Beast coming?”

 

The brat actually sounded excited and John wanted to smack him. “We have bigger problems than the Beast,” he said, exchanging glances with Randy who was doing a quick check of his horse’s shoes. He thought he had heard the horse catch one during the mad dash out of town, but they seemed to be on tight. He stood up, putting a hand out to the horse’s shoulder to steady himself.

 

“So what’s going on?” Seth wanted to know. On second thought though, did he really? He didn’t like the grim look on Randy’s face. This couldn’t be good. Beside him, Dean sipped his coffee.

 

Randy shifted his weight and looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I think the Saint declared war on Heaven.”

 

TBC

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make a run for sanctuary, but discover to their horror that Hunter is one step ahead of them.

**Has it already been over a year since I started this? Wow, time sure flies. Anyway, a big thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story and have taken the time to review. It is literally all of you who keep me going with Legend Killer.**

**And as always a big, huge thank you to Kiss316 for going over the chapter and pointing out inconsistencies, asking questions and being awesome in general. You rock!**

**Legend Killer Chapter 15**

 

“ _I think the Saint just went to war with Heaven.”_

Dean spit out his coffee and started to laugh. Ignoring him, Seth glared at Randy. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said.

“I wish I were,” Randy said, shooting an annoyed look at Dean who was damned near giggling. Still feeling weak, he lowered himself to the ground and sat cross legged. His roan nuzzled at the back of his neck, lips twitching until Randy gently shoved the horse’s head away from him.

“Why would he do that?” Seth asked. Going to war with Hell he could see, but _Heaven_?

With John providing supporting commentary, Randy caught Seth and Dean up on the events in town, starting with the unexpected but welcome appearance of Mark and ending with him and John getting the hell out of there pursued by the Beast.

“Mayor Michaels was an angel?” Seth mused. “I knew there was something weird about that guy. He was too perfect.”

“Was, being the operative word,” John said, walking nearby. His mare was catching her breath and looking a bit perkier “I think they underestimated how annoyed the Saint would be at their proposition.”

Seth thought about that, and then he frowned abruptly at John. “Wait a minute, why are you still around?” he asked. Seeing John’s puzzled expression, he said, “Dean killed Barrett.”

John and Randy exchanged glances. “Oh shit,” Randy finally said, his shoulders slumping as he rubbed his neck.

“What?” John asked.

“Barrett must have found some poor fool before Dean got him,” Randy sighed in resignation. He felt like utter crap and judging from the dark circles under Dean’s eyes and his pale skin; he was too was still feeling the effects of the Saint’s rage probably even worse than Randy, after having been tortured by Nexus.

“We need to find him,” Seth said.

“And if we do, what then? Saint isn’t listening,” Randy said. He looked over at Dean. “Have you tried to summon him?” he asked.

That sobered the lunatic up a bit. “Not since Barrett,” Dean said shortly and glanced away.

Nodding, Randy understood Dean’s reluctance, but bracing himself he tried anyway, mentally calling out. Silence fell over them for a minute, and then Randy shook his head. “He’s not answering.” This was a first and for all his personal issues with the Saint, he was a bit concerned. Not for the old man he told himself, but for Ambrose and Reigns.

“We still need to take Hunter down,” Dean suggested. “He’s on his way to Helena.”

“But the Beast is in Helena,” Seth argued. “That means Hunter is going to be out of our reach for the time being. We can’t stay here like sitting ducks while the Saint off doing whatever the fuck he’s doing,” Seth walked over to his paint and checked the girth of the paint’s saddle as he mind raced to come up with a workable plan.

“So where do we go?” John asked. The mare had caught her breath and was showing interest in some nearby grass. He made a quick check of her shoes; just to be sure she was ready to go if they needed to take off in a hurry again and re-tightened her girth as well.

“We head north to the Nations. Dean needs to recover. We let the Saint get over his snit, and then get back to work. While we’re there maybe Crowfoot will want to fix John,” Seth said firmly. John's smile was thin.

“We’re not going anywhere without Roman,” Dean argued, starting to get mad. “We can’t just take off and leave him.” He looked at Seth like he couldn’t believe what he was suggesting.

“Mark got him out of town.” John said. “We don’t know where they went.”

“Then we go find them,” Dean insisted. He didn't miss the looks exchanged between Randy and John. “What? Are you just going to run away and leave him? Well fuck that! Roman is our brother and we need to make sure he's okay.” He stomped towards his horse, intent on finding Roman with or without the others' help.

“Dean wait,” Seth said following the lunatic to his horse and grabbing the bridle before Dean could. “We have no idea where to start looking for Roman. And we can't go back to town.”

“If you're afraid of the Beast,” Dean started but Seth was shaking his head.

“You know I'm not, but we have to be smart about this. We have to wait until the Saint comes back. Then we'll get the Beast. And if Mark is hiding Roman, then our stumbling around looking for them will only make it easier for the others to find them. Do you trust Mark?” Seth asked, staring directly into Dean's eyes.

Shifting from foot to foot Dean didn't answer right away, but finally he gave a grudging nod. The fact that Dean had such unquestioning faith in the doctor was unusual. But then again, everything about Dean was unusual. Seth trusted Dean’s judgment where Mark was concerned.

“Mark didn’t turn on us when I asked him to watch Hunter for us, and he didn’t turn on Orton when he was shot. Let him take care of Roman the same way.” Seth’s eyes bored into Dean’s. He lowered his voice so only Dean could hear. “You know I’m worried about Roman, but he’s not the only one I care about. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Dean stared at Seth almost in wonder. Then he smiled a thin-lipped smile and nodded. “Okay then,” he said. “Let’s go meet Crowfoot.”

“Let’s get going before something else goes wrong,” John suggested. They all mounted up, Randy and Dean a bit slower than usual, but they set out at an easy walk, pausing to let the horses drink their fill at the stream before heading out. Randy led the way as they headed north through the mountains, sticking to deer trails in order to bypass Helena. The air grew thin as they gained elevation. Off to the west, far beyond the rounded mountain tops they traveled through, they could see jagged snow-covered peaks of another mountain range.

After a while Randy turned northeast and kicked his horse into a jog to make better time. The mountains opened up to the east to reveal flat plains. The thick stands of lodgepole pine trees turned into sparse scrubby shrubs and long grasses interspersed with sagebrush. Once out of the mountains, Randy opened the pace up to a lope, heading north parallel to the mountain range. By the time the sun was sinking down in the northwest, John’s back and neck were aching fiercely. Dean looked pale and miserable and even Seth, who was in excellent condition, was slumped wearily in the saddle. The never-ending chain of mountains stretched out to their left, heading north alongside them. The mountains had been getting steadily taller and more rugged, topped with granite rather than trees.

Finally Randy called for a halt next to a wide, swift flowing stream, chattering over the worn river rocks. “We make camp here,” he said. Relieved, they dismounted. There were a few pines and several large boulders nearby but otherwise the area was desolate. The air was distinctly cool.

“How much further?” John asked, hoping he didn’t sound as exhausted as he felt.

“We’re nearing the borders,” Randy said. That was the only reason he had allowed them to stop. He knew this area and it was less likely for a demon to wander in without repercussions. “Ambrose, you and I will take shifts tonight,” he said as they started to make camp. John collected some wood for a fire. Seth spread out a wool blanket for Dean. The blond man looked like he was about to collapse.

“John and I can take turns as well,” Seth started to say but Randy shook his head.

“You guys can’t sense demons like we can. There is another member of Nexus out there. If he knows about the Saint then he’ll be after us. He will be able to follow Cena like a bloodhound. The last thing we need is for you and John to get taken over. We won't be able to kill you.”

Seth wanted to argue with him, but he couldn’t. Instead, he compromised. “Fine, but I’ll watch with Dean and John will watch with you.” John nodded in support of that proposition.

“Suit yourself,” Randy shrugged. Normally he preferred being alone on watch, but being around other people, people who understood him and what he did, had thawed something deep inside him. He almost welcomed the company, truth be told. He hadn’t realized how lonely he had been. Seeing the close friendship between Ambrose, Rollins and Reigns, despite the whole Saint of Killers involvement gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to isolate himself quite so much.

After a meal of cold biscuits, cheese and jerky, they bedded down for the night. Having taken a short nap, Dean and Seth took the first watch while Randy and John caught what sleep they were able to. The fire died down to glowing embers, occasionally flaring when a stray breeze stirred them.

Away from the fire, the stars flickered brilliantly overhead. A coyote yipped far off in the distance and insects filled the air with their songs. But other than that, then night was quiet. Dean's back was pressed against Seth’s. Even if it bothered Dean’s injuries, he still wanted to feel the comfort of Seth’s presence. The cold of the Saint’s rage was still in his bones but Seth’s warmth helped to ease it.

“How are you doing?” Seth asked Dean, his voice low.

Dean twitched a bit before he answered. “I’m okay. Worried about Roman though,” he said.

“Me too,” Seth admitted.

They didn’t talk for the rest of their watch.

  
  


Roman was hot, so hot. His body was on fire. It was dark and hard to breathe. Every time he tried to draw a breath, a horrible pain like a hot boulder sitting on his chest prevented him from getting enough air. He tried to struggle, to breathe, but there was only the suffocating pressure in his chest. The world swayed and jolted, sending searing bolts of pain through him. He must be in Hell, he decided.

“Just lie still,” a deep voice told him and it was impossible to disobey that command. Unconsciousness closed in again.

When Roman woke again, the swaying and jolting had stopped. He was lying flat on his back, the ground rough and uneven under him but mercifully still. It was still dark, but he dimly realized that his eyes were closed. After several attempts, he finally was able to peel his eyelids open and he squinted up into the star-filled sky. The smell of wood smoke and the crackle of a fire caught his attention and he turned his head. A small campfire burned merrily nearby, giving off more light than heat. But Roman was still so hot that sweat rolled off his skin despite the cool night air. He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry he couldn’t manage more than a croak of air. Then there was a hand behind his head, lifting him up and there was a cup pressed to his lips. The water was cool, so cool he knew he could never get enough. And sure enough, the cup was pulled away far too soon and he scowled in annoyance.

“Take it easy, I’ll get you more,” the deep voice said, sounding amused.

He knew that voice, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he had heard it. It had always accompanied the lessening of pain, until recently. That version kept getting tangled up in his mind with another more violent version. A demon? He tried to shift the blanket off of himself, but his arms refused to move properly and when they did, he was shocked at how weak he was. He drew a breath but the pain in his chest flared and he gasped shallowly. The cup of water was back, only this time it tasted a bit sharp, like it wasn’t completely water but he had no idea of what else it could be. He drained that cup as well. The hand eased his head back down and suddenly he started shivering. He was cold, so cold, even with the blanket.

“Lie still,” the voice commanded and he found himself obeying without question as the darkness closed around him once again, taking him away from the heat, the chills and the pain.

Mark looked down at Roman Reigns, now unconscious thanks to the herbs he added to the water. The boy was shivering with fever, but he wasn’t going to die from it. The Saint’s strength would see to that. It had taken Randy Orton only about a month to recover from being gutshot, and his wounds had been compounded by the demon-blood burns that Benoit had painted across his shoulders. Reigns would take considerably less time to get back on his feet. But until then, Roman Reigns was vulnerable and Mark intended to get him to somewhere safe before they were found. Nearby, the pale horse snorted softly, its eyes reflecting the firelight. Roman’s black horse was invisible in the darkness.

The next time Roman woke up, it was near dawn. The fire was now softly glowing embers. Once again Mark offered him water and checked the dressing. The wound was swollen and red, but Roman’s fever was going down. The young man blinked and swallowed. He was more lucid this time. “What happened?” he rasped. He had tried and tried to remember, but the last thing he could recall was riding towards Helena.

“You were shot. Orton and Cena got you to me. It was too dangerous for you to stay in town with the Beast so close so I brought you here where it’s a bit safer,” Mark said as he helped Roman sit up a bit so he could drink easier. He offered more water infused with ginger to help fight any infection. Roman swallowed, making a face as the ginger burned his throat but he didn’t complain. When he had finished the drink, Mark eased him back down.

“The others? What happened after?” Roman asked.

“After you passed out, I got you out of town before Orton and Cena confronted the Beast. I don’t know what happened to Ambrose and Rollins,” Mark said as he stirred the fire back to life to get some coffee brewing, sending sparks flying upward.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Roman asked softly, feeling a thick layer of guilt settle over him. Dammit, his brothers were in trouble, he should be there with them! Instead he was lying around being useless.

Not fooled for an instant, Mark snorted. “Knock it off with the martyr routine, Reigns. It’s damned near impossible to kill Orton. That guy has more lives than a cat. And he’s watching out for your friends, so I wouldn’t worry about them. If I know Randy Orton, and I do, he’s got them headed for the Nations. Demons know to avoid Crowfoot’s territory. The earth spirits that guarded that land would tear them apart. Ambrose and the others will be safe there.”

“For how long?”

“As long as they need,” Mark shrugged. He taped Roman on the forehead. “It’s you that’s still in danger. You need to concentrate on getting better. They’re going to need you soon.”

Roman nodded and closed his eyes, but despite his exhaustion he stayed awake. His mind was clearer now. He took a breath and willed his body to get stronger. He missed his brothers.

…

The demon showed up right before the sun rose. Randy and John had just returned from watch. The night had been quiet with barely a breeze to stir the trees. Seth and Dean were at the campfire. Dean was still sleeping; a lump under the blanket with tufts of blond hair sticking out. Seth was brewing the coffee. They didn’t talk, Randy and John were too tired and Seth didn’t want to wake a very grumpy Dean before the coffee was ready.

While they waited for the coffee, Randy and John took the horses to the stream to drink before they hit the trail again. As the animals slurped the icy water, Randy washed his face trying to get rid of the grit in his eyes. He froze as a slight movement nearby caught his attention. It was a rattlesnake, the biggest one he had ever seen and it seemed to be staring right at him. The snake would be torpid from the cold early morning air, but Randy didn’t want to take any chances, especially with the horses. He was about to _calmly_ mention to John they should move the horses a bit downstream when an uneasy feeling fell over him and he swore quietly, reaching for his gun while drops of water dripped down his stubble-covered cheeks. John looked at him from over the back of Dean’s mustang.

“Nexus?” he asked in a hushed voice. Randy nodded once, not taking his eyes from the mountains to the west. He signaled for John to go back. John gathered the reins of the four horses, and headed back to the camp, leaving Randy alone at the stream. Seth looked up at John as he approached and understood the situation immediately. “Dean wake up!” he hissed.

Dean didn’t move.

“Dean, Nexus is coming!” Seth said as he crossed over to where Dean lay and reached down to shake his shoulder. He was greeted with a gun in the face. Without batting an eye, Seth grabbed Dean’s hand and pointed the gun elsewhere. “Dean, so help me god I will dump the coffee over your head if you shoot me.”

Glaring up at Seth through his blond fringe, Dean said, “You waste my coffee I will shoot you for real,” he promised. Jerking his gun hand free from Seth’s grip, he grunted as he sat up, reaching for his ribs in an unconscious gesture to cradle them against the pain.

Seeing how pale Dean still was and how much pain he was in, Seth gently helped his friend get to his feet. “Are you up for helping Randy?” Seth asked, unable to hide his concern. “If not, I’ll figure something out.”

“I’m fine,” Dean insisted despite it being obvious that he wasn’t. He took a shallow breath and stuffed his gun back into its holster. “Get out of here,” he told Seth, his voice gruff. The rope burns on his throat were fading but still noticeable. “Don’t need you to get taken over by Nexus too.”

Nodding, Seth clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Be careful. Like I said, I don’t want to lose you.” _Like Roman_ , but he didn’t say that out loud.

That softened the lunatic up a tick. “Same,” Dean said reaching out the touch his fist to Seth’s. Then he picked up Seth’s rifle, checked the load and started walking towards the stream, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll signal you when it’s clear with this. Don’t you dare touch my coffee before I’ve had some.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Seth murmured with a smile, barely loud enough for John to hear. They threw the saddles on their horses and mounted up.

“Which way?” John asked. He was still very stiff and sore, and was hoping this wouldn’t take too long or get too exciting.

Seth was frowning but shook his head as if to clear it. He watched both Dean and Randy standing side by side near the stream, looking west. “East,” he said and turned his horse in the direction of the rising sun. John followed.

“Think the Saint is done with whatever the fuck he’s doing?” Dean asked Randy. The early morning air by the stream was cold. Cradling the rifle in his arms, he blew on his hands to keep feeling in them. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. There was silence except for the chattering of the stream in front of them as they both tried to call the Saint.

Nothing.

Randy shrugged. “I guess we’ll just tie the son of a bitch up and drag his ass to the Crowfoot. That old man is merciless when it comes to demons. But we should get out of sight in case the bastard is armed. I don’t feel like getting shot again.”

That was something Dean agreed with wholeheartedly. There were some boulders scattered here and there. Randy stopped by his horse and grabbed a length of rope from his saddle. Using the boulders as cover they waited for the demon to show itself. It didn’t take long before it came into view and Dean swore softly and shook his head. This situation was all sorts of wrong.

Randy made a noise in the back of his throat; it sounded something close to agony. “God damnit, Punk, not you,” he breathed. _How_ had this happened? Punk had his earth spirits to help protect him. He was too smart to get caught by demons. What the hell was happening? The shock of seeing Punk like this, a member of Nexus was almost too much. That had been his friend. Someone he trusted to watch his back. They had fought together, hunted together and laughed together. Randy owed him his life several times over. Now Punk’s soul was dead and his body was being used by Nexus. And unless the Saint decided to show up, Randy couldn’t even kill the body that once held the spirit of Punk. The part of him that had been thawing, the part that had hoped that he could have friends again froze solid in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey Randall! Look who we found!” the demon called out in Punk’s voice. Punk’s face was pale and covered in deep scratches. The demon sauntered to the edge of the stream. It was grinning as it splashed from rock to rock, lacking Punk’s silent grace. “We’ve been looking for him for a long time. His stupid little earth spirits fought hard but they were no match for Nexus.”

Sickened and enraged, Randy didn’t reply.

Punk came closer, almost all the way across the stream. “You know, unless the old man agrees to work for us, we will just keep targeting anyone he comes in contact with. And of course that means that little US Deputy Marshal who’s been running with you. And there’s nothing you can do stop us!”

“Wish we could shut him the fuck up,” Dean muttered, trying not to let Punk’s words get to him but the thought of Seth getting possessed by Nexus made his skin crawl. He twitched with growing rage. A few yards away, Randy nodded in agreement, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He checked the load of his gun while he waited for Punk to come a bit closer.

“Oh hey Randall, did you mention to your pal here about how he would have gone to Heaven if that Saint had been reasonable? But that deal is off the table now. And the other guy, the one Batista shot? Yeah, he’s totally down in hell as we speak.”

Dean and Randy exchanged looks. Randy wasn’t sure what Dean’s reaction to that piece of news would be. Dean just shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on getting there anyway,” he said. Despite the situation, Randy huffed a small laugh. Seeing that, Dean’s lip curled into a savage mockery of a smile as he answered Nexus. “I’m sure we can talk about it when I get down there. Oh wait, you won’t be there.” He aimed his revolver and fired a round at Punk who moved unbelievably fast. The bullet missed but Dean hadn’t intended to shoot Punk, just to get his attention.

“Ah it’s you, Moxley. Or should I say Ambrose? Bet you regret ever letting that old man use you. You know he doesn’t give a shit about you, right? As far as he’s concerned, you’re just a piece of meat to use in order to kill. And if it comes down to it, he’ll leave you to die alone and…AARRGH!!!”

Dean had fired another shot, this one slamming right into Punk’s leg. The demon fell to the ground writhing in agony. “Hey, Punk!” he called. “Or should I say Nexus? It’s two on one. We’re going to finish you off once and for all.” He was about to shoot at Punk again when a low buzzing from the vicinity of his feet caught his attention. With a shriek, Dean stumbled backward away from the cover of the boulder, his attention fixed on the rattlesnake that had been napping there. He swung the revolver around to shoot the snake but Punk’s shout of triumph interrupted his terror. Dean braced himself to feel the pain of hot lead or the burn of venom. But instead, while the demon was focused on Dean, Randy charged. Before Punk could react, Randy kicked, trying to punt the demon in the head. But the demon moved at the last second and grabbed Randy's leg, sending him crash to the ground. Twisting to free himself, Randy reached down to pry the hand from his calf. With a sick grin, Punk grabbed his elbow and twisted it. Randy howled in pain as he felt his shoulder pull loose from its socket.

The cry of pain was enough to snap Dean out of his snake-induced terror. He came around the back of the demon and with one arm under Punks chin, forced his head back. In his other hand he held a knife. “Let go or I will blind you,” he growled into Punk's ear. With a sneer, Punk released Randy.

Randy scrambled free with Punk’s revolver in his good hand. The demon still had a knife but now the odds were much more to Randy’s liking. With a grunt, Punk heaved Dean off his back and rose to his feet, grinning behind dead eyes. “You think you can take me without the Saint's help?” he asked as he turned to face Dean who was twisting to his feet. The demon took a step towards Dean when the rattlesnake struck, sinking its fangs deep into Punk’s calf. The demon screamed in horror and with a flash of insight, Randy understood what was happening. He shouted to Ambrose, “Get the rope!” While Dean, pale and bug-eyed from being so near the viper, looked for the rope, Randy once again took Punk down to the ground. With a knee in the middle of Punk's back, he reached up and grabbed the rope out of midair after Dean had tossed it in his direction. It was difficult to tie Punk up with one good arm, but Ambrose produced a pair of handcuffs. Seeing Randy’s look, Dean looked defensive. “What? It’s not like Seth needs them.”

Despite the snake venom burning through his veins, Punk started laughing. “What’s so funny?” Dean demanded as he helped Randy bind the demon.

“You guys are such idiots,” the demon sneered. His words were starting to slur.

“Says the demon who just got bit by a snake and tied up by a one-armed man,” Dean jeered back. Then he remembered the snake and looked wildly around for it, but it had disappeared into the tall grass, making Dean even more nervous. He had kept jumping at every little movement he saw from the corner of his eye until Randy told him to knock it off.

“It’s gone, Ambrose,” he assured Dean. But Randy too was feeling uneasy. Not about the snake, but that there was more going on than they knew. “What do you mean?” he asked Punk suspiciously. With both of them being injured, the capture of Punk was too easy.

“You’ll find out soon,” Punk promised, its eyes were dilated. The demon was not reacting well to the venom which was exactly what should be happening, to Randy’s satisfaction.

“Find out what?” Randy asked, as he crouched next to Punk, holding his injured arm against his side. But the demon was beyond talking and just shook its head.

“What was that about?” Dean said, still glaring at the grass.

“Not sure.” Randy shook his head and said, “Let’s just get him to the Nations. I am tired to death of dealing with Nexus.” He stood up, still holding his useless arm close to his body. Together he and Dean dragged Punk’s body back to the camp. In a show of uncharacteristic consideration for Randy’s feelings, Dean gagged the demon too. Then he fired the rifle into the air. Seeing the coffee still near the fire, he grabbed a tin cup and poured himself some. He noticed Randy’s arm hanging limp at his side. “Is it broken?” he asked.

Grimacing, Randy shook his head. “No, just dislocated.” He set his jaw and held his arm out to Dean. “Hold on,” he said and Dean took Randy’s wrist in his grip with his free hand. White with pain, Randy pulled in the opposite direction. Slowly, the shoulder slid back into place. Randy heaved a breath in relief and sank to a knee, trying to push down the nausea in the back of his throat. Unimpressed, Dean sipped his coffee. Then he frowned. “Shouldn’t they be back by now?” he wondered, looking around for Seth and John.

As soon as Dean said that, Randy _knew_ something had gone wrong. Giving Dean a look, he awkwardly mounted up, the unconscious Punk forgotten and kicked the roan into a gallop. Dean must have been feeling the same because he wasn’t even a hair behind, the sorrel mustang straining to keep up. Keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of Seth and John they raced recklessly through the tall grasses, jumping over the smaller boulders and serving around the bigger ones. Then Randy sat back and hauled back on the reins, stopping abruptly and Dean damned near ran the sorrel into the back of them. He swore loudly when he saw what Randy was looking at.

The bay mare was grazing near a prone body. It was John.

Both Randy and Dean drew their guns but there was no sign of who had done this. Keeping their eyes open in case of an ambush, they made their way over to John, always covering each other. Randy dismounted and crouched down to check the fallen marshal while Dean kept a look out. There was a rock nearby with blood on it. John’s by the looks of it.

“What happened?” Randy asked John who was blinking in a daze but conscious.

“A couple of guys jumped us,” John said, rubbing the back of his head. He winced as his fingers brushed over the large bloody lump.

“Where’s Seth?” Dean asked, scanning the area like he was expecting Rollins to come out of the grass.

Pale, John shook his head gingerly. “They took him. I tried to stop them but something hit me hard and knocked me out. I’m pretty sure they were waiting for us.” He gestured vaguely to the east.

Dean and Randy exchanged looks. “Oh god,” Dean said as his stomach sank into his boots, knowing why Punk had essentially given himself up to them.

“Go!” Randy told him.

Swearing, Dean didn’t stick around for more. He turned his horse towards in the direction John indicated, trying to pick up their trail. While Dean looked for clues as to who took Seth, Randy helped John to his feet with his good arm and led their horses back to the camp, John walking beside his horse with a hand on the stirrup for balance. With a groan of pain, John sat down near the dead fire while Randy took a piece of cloth and dampened it in the icy stream. He handed it to John, who took it gratefully and pressed it against the lump.

“Don’t suppose you know how to fix a concussion?” he asked, only half-joking.

“Just time,” Randy sighed as he got busy packing up his things. He had just finished fastening his saddlebags to the cantle of the saddle when Dean came galloping back. He pulled up right in front of Randy. “There were three of them. They’re headed south at speed,” he reported in agitation as he reined his horse to a stop.

He didn’t have to mention that Helena was south. He also didn’t say anything about the tracks he had found; there were two smaller sets and one bigger set. Seth had put up a fight but he couldn’t take on three at once. “I’m going after him,” he said, brooking no argument.

And they knew it was useless to try to talk him out of it. “Understood,” John said.

“He’s my brother,” Dean said almost desperately, not sure why but he felt the need to explain. He wasn’t able to completely hide his terror for Seth from them.

“We understand,” John said. He felt sympathy for the former deputy US Marshal. It was obvious that losing both Roman and Seth was hurting Dean much more than his wounds ever could. He grinned ruefully. “I have lots of brothers.”

“I don’t,” Dean muttered. He was looking expectantly at Randy who was sick at the decision he had to make. “I can’t go with you, Ambrose. I have to get Nexus up to Crowfoot, otherwise it will escape again and this whole thing will start over,” he said, genuinely regretting not being able to help.

“Dean…” John said helplessly. He could barely stand.

“That’s fine. I work better alone,” Dean practically snarled. He knew he wasn’t being fair, but dammit Seth was in danger. As he turned his horse to go, Randy reached over with his good arm and grabbed the sorrel’s bridle. Dean glared at Randy, almost drawing his sidearm, daring him to try and stop him. Instead, Randy said fiercely, “After you get Rollins, head straight north to the Nations. Don’t try to confront the Beast or Hunter if you can help it. Unless the Saint comes back, then go ahead and waste the fuckers.”

Dean looked at Randy and for once only nodded and turned his horse away as Randy let go. He put the spurs to the sorrel’s sides and galloped off.

TBC

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randy is done
> 
> Dean is in trouble 
> 
> Seth sees the light

**Legend Killer Chapter 16**

**A big, huge thank you to Kiss316 for going over the chapter looking for inconsistencies, asking questions and being awesome in general. It bears repeating: You rock!**   
  


_Dean looked at Randy and for once only nodded and turned his horse away as Randy let go. He put the spurs to the sorrel’s sides and galloped off._

As the sound of hoofbeats faded, John looked at Randy. “What now?” he asked, seeing Punk’s limp body tied up with several lengths of rope and handcuffs. It was gagged as well. Only the solid black glaring eyes indicted that demon was still alive inside. John swallowed against the nausea that was threatening to crawl up his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was the concussion or the demon’s proximity but he was having a hard time focusing on what Randy was saying.

“We take it to Crowfoot. He’ll send it back to hell,” Randy said, his voice devoid of emotion. He never thought that Punk would end up like this. “He’d want to give Punk’s body a proper ceremony to ensure his spirit reaches …” he trailed off. Punk’s spirit had been destroyed by the demon. He swore quietly and rubbed at his eyes. The grass swayed gently in the freshening breeze.

“I’m sorry,” John said sincerely, looking away to give Randy some privacy. His head throbbed.

Hearing John say that made Randy pause. No one had ever said that to him before. For the first time, Randy looked at John without impatience or bitterness and saw the man for what he was. John Cena wasn't a bad man. He was, in fact, a good man. Randy had met so very few honest to god good men during his lifetime he hadn't been able to credit Cena with the benefit of the doubt. But here was a man who had principles and stood by his word. Randy decided to extend a tentative olive branch. “A word of warning, John: do not kill anything on Crowfoot’s land, unless you are given permission,” he said as he got himself under control and back to the task at hand. “I won’t be able to help you if you piss them off.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” John replied. He thought he heard a low rattling nearby when Randy was speaking but when he tried to zero in on it, it stopped. Must have been his imagination, he thought. He had the feeling like he was being watched and that made him nervous. Maybe he should have gone with Ambrose he mused, but discarded the thought immediately. He needed to get rid of the demon taint in his soul. And if that meant listening to Randy Orton and adhering to Crowfoot’s rules, he would gladly comply. Still, he turned his gaze north and even though the land _looked_ empty, he just knew that something was watching him and not kindly.

As if he could read John’s mind, Randy studied him closely, “Last chance,” he offered, his voice soft. “You can still turn back.” He knew what was in store for John and almost felt sorry for the man.

“Then you don’t know me very well. I don’t give up,” John damned near growled. Randy’s look of pity angered him. No one had ever looked at him like that in his life and he hated it. “Even if it kills me, I never give up. So shut your mouth and let’s get moving.” He stood up, ignoring the black spots that burst in front of his vision.

John‘s angry reaction to his attempt at a truce made Randy shut down the trickle of sympathy he was feeling. “Don’t say you weren’t given the chance,” he said coolly. “Chances are you are going to die before the taint is removed.” Despite that, he could see through John’s anger and knew John was afraid and lashing out. But Randy had his own issues to deal with. He turned away from John and got on with the business of getting Punk's body back to Crowfoot. He knew the horse would hate carrying Punk, but there was no choice. He would have to lead the horse the rest of the way. And with John concussed and probably unable to ride at a pace faster than a walk, it was going to be a long time before they got to Crowfoot. Ignoring his aching shoulder, he heaved Punk’s body over the roan’s back, tying it securely to the saddle so it couldn’t wriggle off. The horse snorted, rolling its eyes and pinning its ears back but it didn’t buck. Stroking a hand down the sleek neck, Randy took the reins and started leading the horse north, not bothering to check to see if John was coming.

What was hurting him the most wasn’t John’s rejection though. It was that every time, _every fucking time_ he thought that maybe he could be part of the human world, he was slapped down hard. By now he should know better. Having any sort of emotional attachments meant being vulnerable and his enemies would target them because of that. The remains of his soul ached, not just from the spiritual damage inflicted by the Colt Walkers but the emotional damage it had sustained from losing every person he had ever cared about. Ted, Cody, Punk…

And now he had to explain to Crowfoot that his grandson was worse than dead. That Punk was lost to them forever. He wouldn't be waiting in the spirit world to reunite with them. And it was Randy’s fault. Punk had only been caught by Nexus because of Randy.

Now Randy was done.

He was done with friends.

He was done with family.

He was done with the whole fucking war.

While he walked through the tall grasses and sage brush, he decided that he wasn't going to fight for the human world anymore. He had done his share, had sacrificed more than anyone. Roman and Dean could take care of it, he thought bitterly. The grass swished quietly as the horse and Randy moved through it, avoiding the occasional small boulder. Grasshoppers jumped lazily out of the way. A bird warbled somewhere in the distance and the vast sky overhead was an unbelievable shade of blue. Mountains rose high to their left, kissing the sky as they guided Randy northwest. And the infinite plains rolled away to his right. This was where he belonged, away from the problems of humans, demons and angels. He heard the rattle of the snake and smiled to himself.

As he watched Randy walk away, John sighed and prodded gingerly at the large lump on the back of his skull. It wasn’t like him to snap at someone who was honestly trying to help, even if that someone was Randy Orton, asshole supreme. He could blame the concussion but that was only part of the reason. John was man enough to admit that his real reason was fear. When Chief Justice Vincent McMahon had ordered him to come out west, John had had no idea what was in store for him. He had never thought of himself as sheltered or naive, but now his eyes had been opened and truth be told, it scared the shit out of him. He had never felt fear like this in his life and to his embarrassment, he lashed out at someone who didn't deserve it. If he lived through this, he decided he would make it up to Randy somehow. With a pang of longing for his earlier ignorance, he took a deep breath and forced his body to move. He climbed onto the bay mare’s saddle and nudged her with his heels, following Randy. Grateful for the slow pace, he had a feeling the rest of the day wouldn’t be much better. And from the way Randy had been looking at him, John knew his future wasn't going to be fun. To distract himself, he moved the mare up to walk next to Randy who kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. After a mile or so John frowned in confusion. “Where did this mist come from?” he asked. “It wasn’t here a minute ago.” It was so thick he could barely see several paces in front of the horse. Instinctively he moved the mare closer to Randy so he wouldn’t lose sight of him as the mist got even thicker. For a long time he thought Randy wasn’t going to answer because he was still mad at John. Everything was so quiet.

But when Randy finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost peaceful. “You’re not in America anymore John. This place it’s…different from any place you’ve ever been. This is the domain of spirits and magic. The earth spirits here are powerful and they won’t hesitate to rip you limb from limb if you anger them.”

As if in response to Randy’s words, there was a low growling nearby. From the sound of it, it was something unbelievably huge, hidden in the mist. Mouth suddenly dry, John again revised his definition of fear.

… _._

As the sun rose higher in the east, the shadow of the racing mustang grew a little shorter over the uneven ground as the miles rolled by.

Dean could see a group of riders far in the distance but he resisted the urge to spur the horse to go even faster because he _knew_ there was going to be some sort of ambush ahead. Whoever those guys were, they hadn’t grabbed Seth on a whim. It had been a setup and the demon Punk sent it to cause a distraction. It had been a good one too. Randy had been so upset when he saw what happened to Punk that it hadn’t occurred to him there might have been more to the situation. But dammit, Dean should have known! Dave had told them Hunter was after Seth but they hadn’t taken it as seriously as they should have. Dean was furious, with both himself and Hunter. He kept his eyes firmly ahead, looking for any sign of the trap.

Ahead, some of the forest that had been growing on the mountains had spilled over into the plains. Not the towering Ponderosa pines, but smaller, sparser aspens that followed streams and rivers. The riders he was following headed straight into it. If he were to plan an ambush, that would be the perfect spot. His lips twisted into a savage grin at the obviousness. He would have welcomed the distraction in other circumstances; the chance to tear into Hunter’s men was never a thing to pass up. But now it just meant a delay, to fall further behind.

And God help anyone who stood between him and Seth.

He sat back a little and reined the mustang to an easy lope as they entered the trees. Dean was in a hurry but if he wasn’t careful, his getting killed wouldn’t save Seth. He pulled out his left revolver and held it easy at his thigh. He stretched out his senses but there were no sign of demons in the vicinity, which was surprising but encouraging. Still, he muttered to himself. “Old man, if you aren’t here when I need you… Whoa!” He didn’t get a chance to finish his threat because something gray and dog-shaped jumped out from under the mustang’s feet, causing the horse to flinch violently to the side. Most of Dean’s weight came down into his right stirrup as he barely managed not to get dumped by the unexpected swerve. As he clung to his horse’s mane Dean drew a breath to curse the coyote only to growl in anger at the buzz of a bullet whizzing past his head. He pulled the wild-eyed mustang to a sliding stop on its haunches and quickly scanned for a target. Knowing better than to be standing still, Dean turned the horse in the direction he was sure the bullet had come from. He couldn’t see any movement through the trees but that didn’t matter. The shooter had eyes on him. Except for the erratic stand of aspens, there was no cover, no place to pick off his enemy safely from a distance. He was in the open and vulnerable. He remembered the war stories of the veterans, of being in battle under heavy fire from enemy cannon and rifle.

_Sometimes the choice is to charge the enemy or die._

Sinking his spurs into the mustang’s sides, Dean charged. This asshole was between him and Seth. He stood in the stirrups and aimed the revolver at the trees in front of him. It took a few seconds to lock onto a movement between the trees. He pointed the revolver, squinting down the barrel. His eyes widened when he saw the man who had shot at him. For a moment, his mind balked at the idea that this man was alive. He was too pale, and big. He was nearly as tall as Glenn. And he had the reddest hair Dean had ever seen. He was definitely the ambush Dean was expecting, but Dean almost rolled his eyes at the lack of foresight. No matter how big a man was, a bullet was the great equalizer in this equation. Dean had six shots in his revolver and he never missed. He squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet directly into the man’s chest.

The man laughed.

Irritated Dean fired again. The pale man spread his arms wide, making himself a bigger target for the charging horse and rider. Dean swore to himself. That was impossible; there was no way he missed! Then abruptly he remembered what true mission was and holstered his gun. He leaned in the saddle to turn the mustang back to their original course of pursuing Seth’s abductors. Why the guy didn’t go down when Dean knew there were two bullet lodged in the man’s heart was beyond him but that was irrelevant. He spurred the mustang to make up time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement right before the horse’s front legs were jerked out from underneath it by a lasso and the mustang went down hard on its chest. Only Dean’s lightning reflexes prevented him from being caught under the crashing animal. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dove off before getting trapped under the horse. He landed hard on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him. For too many seconds he struggled to get air back in his lungs. A pair of large boots blocked his vision.

“Bullets don’t affect me none, boy-o,” the man grinned down at him, clearly enjoying himself. His accent was so thick Dean could barely understand what he was saying. Blood trickled down the front of the man's shirt. Dean had hit him dead center but it hadn't made a difference. “I hear you Saint's boys are tough, well-nigh unkillable. Well except for a bullet to the brain. I want to find out just how tough you truly are. Fight me,” he challenged. With the accent it sounded like he said ‘Foight meh.”

“Christ,” Dean muttered, almost rolling his eyes. The pale man reached down and grabbed Dean by his hair and pulled him to his feet. Dean gasped in pain.

“Get rid of the belt boy-o,” the man advised shoving Dean back. “Name’s Sheamus,” he grinned.

“Don’t care,” Dean replied as he unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop. “Demon ass-kisser won’t live long enough for me to remember.”

“Not working with demons,” Sheamus said, still grinning. “Workin’ with the angels.

“Same difference,” Dean told him, standing completely still, waiting for Sheamus to make the first move. He kept his body relaxed, joints loose.

“Not the same my friend. I have the angels’ guarantee to protect me if I stop you.” The big man crouched a bit, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet. He curled his hands into fists.

“Angels lie,” Dean told him. “Besides, you’re between me and one of my brothers.”

“To get to him, you have to go through me.” Sheamus charged at Dean, fists ready to strike.

Bored, Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out his spare revolver and shot Sheamus through the forehead. Twice. Sheamus’ eyes widened as he stumbled, blood pouring from his head. He fell down face first and lay still. The earlier encounter with Dave Batista had taught Dean that keeping both guns in their holsters was an easy way to be separated from them. “Idiot,” he muttered, then froze as a muzzle of a gun nestled behind his ear. Dean hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Yeah, he liked to fight but he wasn’t very bright,” a man said sounding agreeable. “Can’t say he was my first choice as a partner, but Hunter pays good money so I’ll put with a lot. Now, put your hands up where I can see them.”

Slowly, Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Who are you?” he asked. The man hadn’t shot him in the head, which was a good sign.

“Not your concern,” the man said. Dean desperately wished he could see whom he was talking to. But the man stayed out of his line of sight, feeling inside Dean’s jacket for another weapon, finding none. Satisfied, the man said “Now kneel.”

“If you’re going to shoot me, I think I’d rather stand,” Dean replied. There was no fear in his voice.

“I’m not going to kill you. Our orders were to hand you off to someone else. I don’t do anything I’m not paid to do.”

Dean thought he could detect a trace of an accent but he was having a difficult time placing it. “Whose orders?” he asked, easing to his knees. He tried to think of a way out of this situation.

“I told you, Judge Hunter,” the man said, completely unconcerned. With Dean on his knees, the man circled around in front of him, gun aimed at Dean’s head never wavering yet never within reach. Getting a look at his captor, Dean wasn’t initially impressed. The man was overweight, had short brown hair with a neckbeard and a round face. Yet despite being out of condition, the man had a very broad neck and shoulders. His eyelids drooped like he was half-asleep, or bored. But it was when Dean looked into his eyes that he felt a cold finger of genuine fear in his heart. Behind the man’s eyes there was nothing.

The man had no soul.

Even Randy, whose soul was so badly damaged he probably wouldn’t be able to move on to any sort of afterlife had something. But not this man. Had he not been recruited by the Saint, Dean wouldn’t have known like he did. But even then, he would have instinctively felt the absence and treated it with the utmost caution, like handling a sleeping viper. “Who are you?” Dean asked again.

The man shrugged. “My name’s Kevin Owens.” He glanced up at the sky but not long enough for Dean to do anything. He sniffed and shook his head, almost like a nervous tick.

“You don’t have a soul.” Dean couldn’t help himself.

Unconcerned, Kevin sniffed and shrugged again. “So I’ve been told. Personally I don’t think I’m missing out after seeing how people are terrified about what happens to theirs after they die.”

No sure how to answer that, Dean changed tactics. “How long are we going to wait here?” he asked. As if right on cue, he felt uneasy. Dammit!

“Long enough for some guy they call Balor to get here. I guess he knows you or something.” Kevin didn’t seem shy about answering questions. In fact, he didn't seem to give a shit about anything.

“Yeah? And when’s that?” Dean asked, stalling while he tried to come up with a way to kill this guy and get the hell out of there before this Balor fiend showed up. Unless the Saint appeared, Dean was in serious trouble.

Kevin shrugged again. “I don’t get paid to keep a schedule of his appearances. But you probably already know that he's on his way.”

“What if I don't want to meet your friend?” Dean asked, starting to fidget. He hated the feeling of demons under normal circumstances. Now with Seth’s life in the balance, it was all he could do not to throw himself bodily at Kevin. Come to think of it…Glancing at the sky again, Kevin started to answer when Dean did throw himself at him, tackling the stocky man even as Kevin fired. Dean felt the bullet burn into his shoulder but he didn’t care. His momentum took Kevin to the ground. With one fist Dean cracked Kevin’s jaw while the other held the gun hand pinned to the ground. The blow did nothing to Kevin however. The stocky man just shoved Dean off and with a quickness that rivaled Seth’s, rolled to his feet. Dean staggered back, clutching his shoulder briefly before he charged again. But this Kevin guy was a better fighter than Dean had anticipated. And Dean was still recovering from his torture by the hands of the Nexus. All too soon, Dean found himself blinking up at the sun, wondering why there were two them. Then the sun was replaced by Owens' round face.

“See, now, that wasn't necessary,” Owens lectured, barely even breathing hard. He touched Dean's cracked ribs with the toe of his boots. Dean scrunched his eyes shut with a groan. The demon was close now.

And then men who grabbed Seth were getting further away.

_Where the fuck are you, old man?_

…

The smell of sweaty horse and leather was right in his face. Tied up over the saddle with his head hanging on one side, and his feet over the other, Seth was furious with himself. He had been so worried about Dean that he hadn’t been paying attention and got jumped. John had tried to fight, but after being brained by a large rock all the fight had gone out of him, like a puppet getting its strings cut. Seth wondered if John was alive. To be strictly honest, John’s health wasn’t high on his list of things to be concerned about at that moment but it did distract him from the jarring caused by the motion of the galloping horse. And the constant motion of the horse’s galloping battered Seth’s stomach and wreaked havoc with his breathing. All he could see was the horse’s side if he opened his eyes but he didn’t need to see to know where they were going.

They were headed south, towards Helena.

Where Hunter was supposed to be arriving at any time.

Where the Beast was already lying in wait.

Seth resisted the impulse to stew about his situation. Instead, he tried to focus on a way to escape. They had tied his hands behind his back. Luckily his riding gloves protected his wrists from chaffing as he tried to work his hands free, but he had to admit that whoever tied the knots had done an expert job. Further hindering him was the pounding in his head from hanging upside down. The gag between his teeth tasted awful and chaffed his cheeks and lips. After a while the discomfort turned into pain and his mind started to fog over. He was losing his sense of time as the disorientation worsened and all he could think about was the pain radiating outward from his midsection and his head. It became his whole world.

It took him a while to realize that the horse had stopped moving. He drew in a deep breath and was just raising his head to look around when someone grabbed him by his legs and pulled. Unable to catch himself, Seth fell heavily to the ground, flat on his back. All of the air went out of his lungs with a whoosh. He groaned through the gag, squeezing his eyes shut at the nausea and curled over on his side, breathing through his nose. After he got his breathing under control he opened his eyes and turned his head. He was forced to squint up into the sun, only able to make out the silhouettes of the men who had captured him. There had been three, two were very short, older but wily. Both had the look of having fought in the war. The third, the one who had taken out John with a rock to the head, wasn’t in his line of sight. Seth wondered where the man was.

The short one with short hair, as opposed to the short one with no hair, spoke with a marked southern accent. ”We got ‘im, Hunter. Me an Joey got ‘im! It went just like you said!” The man, who had been called Jamie by his companions beamed at Hunter like he wanted the judge to be proud of him.

“You had some help,” Hunter dryly.

The other one, the bald quiet one, glared at Jamie visibly trying to get him to shut up, or at least tone down the ass kissing. “It was close though. They were right at the edge of Crowfoot’s territory. Another few minutes they would have been out of our reach.”

“But you got him. That’s all that matters,” Hunter said, ending the budding argument before it began. He crouched next to Seth and reached out a hand to help him sit up. Seth jerked away, glaring as hard as he could. Hunter smiled, like he was expecting it. Seth struggled to a sitting position on his own, glaring at Hunter the entire time.

“Hey, we aren’t going to hurt you,” Hunter said, looking at Seth like a prized piece of meat.

Skin crawling, Seth continued to glare at Hunter. Even tied up, gagged and on the ground he wasn’t going to let Hunter intimidate him.

As if reading his mind, Hunter’s lip curled up into an amused sneer. “Seth Rollins,” he drawled, as if he were savoring each syllable of Seth’s name. “I’m very glad you’re finally here. I was getting worried. We were starting to run out of time.” He nodded at Jamie who untied Seth’s gag. After that, both Jamie and Joey positioned themselves on either side of Seth, each keeping one hand on his shoulders.

“What the fuck is going on, Hunter?” Seth demanded. He was in a terrible situation and was searching desperately for a way out. But to do that, he needed information. Seth couldn’t suppress a shudder looking into Hunter’s eyes. He could see the man’s fanaticism. He looked for a way out, but the two little guys had their hands on his shoulders, keeping him on his knees. For being such little guys, they were very strong.

Shrugging, Hunter said, “I made a deal that I intend to keep.”

“With the demons and the angels, I know. But you fucked up. The Saint of Killers will never raise a finger to save me. ”

Smirking, Hunter stood up and leaned up against the wagon. Reaching in, he pulled out a bottle and took a sip of liquor. “That’s true. The Saint recruited Ambrose and Reigns, which makes sense because I always knew they were killers. But not you. You’re different from them. You are exactly what I need.” The bastard looked so confident Seth longed to punch him in his large nose. Hunter glanced up at the sun as if measuring the time. “This isn’t about the Saint, at least not directly. This is about getting my allies something that they want. And they want you.”

“Fuck off, Hunter,” Seth growled, struggling to contain his panic. He couldn’t understand the situation. If they didn’t want to use him to get to the Dean and Roman, and thus the Saint, then why was he there? He shook his shoulders, trying to shed his captors, but he couldn’t get nearly the leverage he needed.

Smiling, Hunter shrugged, supremely unconcerned at Seth’s rebelliousness. “Not that you have a choice. You see, much like demons, angels can possess humans. Care to take a guess where you come in?” He looked up at the sun with a knowing smirk. “We’re ready,” he said to the surrounding air. He glared in annoyance at his two minions. “Get ready or you will burn your eyes out,” he warned. Out of his pocket he pulled a blindfold and covered his own eyes. Jamie and Joey copied him, taking turns then resuming their grip on his shoulders, keeping him on his knees.

Seth felt his stomach twist in terror. “No!” he shouted and started struggling against the ropes that bound his wrists. He looked around for an escape but Jamie and Joey held him firmly on his knees. “Hold him still,” Hunter said and Joey groped around, grabbed Seth’s hair and pulling his head back so the sun was shining directly in his face. He screwed his eyes shut against the light but the light burned orange against his lids, then white. He tried to turn his head away but Joey was too strong. The light moved nearer to him, surrounding him and he got the horrible feeling of being smothered by it. That it had a weight, a substance.

And then it _entered_ him.

It filled up every part of his being, all his thoughts, secrets and feelings were wide open before it. It examined his emotions, paying particular attention to his feelings for Roman and Dean. Feeling nauseatingly violated inside and out, Seth tried to open his eyes, to turn away but he was unable to move or resist. Distantly he heard the beating of wings.

 _Hello Mr. Rollins_ , a voice in his mind said.

Giving into his terror, he frantically tried to push it out, but the light was immovable and the voice laughed at him. _Don’t bother_ , it said, dismissing his efforts. _I have been waiting a long time for this_. _You are mine now_.

Then everything he knew became light.

For a long time it was quiet, except for the single scream of an eagle soaring above them. After a few minutes, Hunter peeked out from under his blindfold. Seeing Seth limp in the two men’s arms, Hunter said, “You can let him go now.”

Jamie and Joey to let him go and removed their blindfolds as well, watching as Seth’s body slumped to the ground. Long minutes dragged by as they watched the deputy Marshal lay unmoving. Then Seth groaned low in his throat and Jamie and Joey tensed, ready to subdue Rollins again if necessary. But Hunter stopped them with a gesture and they stepped back watching intently.

Drawing a deep breath, Seth opened his eyes and looked at the sky. He sat up, looking around in wonder. His eyes were golden. A blond streak on the side of his head glowed in the sun. Even covered in dirt, he was beautiful.

“It’s okay, you can untie him now,” Hunter said, smiling like a proud father. Jamie pulled out a knife and knelt behind Seth, cutting the rope that bound his wrists. The Jamie stepped back and watched Seth climb gracefully to his feet.

“Thank you Hunter. I am most grateful to you,” the angel smiled, looking down at his new, mortal body. “It’s perfect.”

TBC

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman knows something is up.
> 
> Dean meets Balor

Legend Killer would not be nearly as polished without the patience and efforts of Kiss 316, who is the Beta reader supreme. You rock!

 

**Legend Killer 17**

  


  


Sika and Afa Anoa’i had come to America together when they were children. They crossed the wide Pacific Ocean with their parents and siblings, landing in California. Although they liked California both were adventurous and longed to see more of their new country. As soon as they were old enough they left their home and family, wandering east across the country, crossing deserts, plains and mountain ranges. They learned to shoot and ride, getting hired on as ranch hands for a season or two before they moved on. They always watched each other’s backs. Both agreed that neither one of them liked the cold climate of the north, the bitter winds howled across the prairie as they huddled around a small campfire during a cattle drive so they headed south to the Gulf Coast. Eventually they settled down in Florida and started a small ranch of their own. They found wives. Sika fathered two children Roman and Matthew. Afa’s wife had twin boys, Jimmy and Jay. The Anoa’i brothers houses were on opposite sides of the ranch but their children were always together, frequently staying over at each other’s place rather than going home when it got dark.

When Roman was eight years old, he was staying over at Afa’s for the night. Matthew had been confined to his bed after an unfortunate run-in with a snake, but he was recovering. Roman had been playing with his cousins and they had lost track of time. The boys’ favorite game was pretending to be US Marshal Dwayne Johnson, whose exploits made him a hero in the boys’ eyes. They would fight over who got to be the Marshal and who had to be the bad guys. Afa had found them in the barn, Jimmy had brought Roman and Jay to justice and was going to hang them for their crimes. Putting a stop to _that_ , Afa herded them inside for dinner and bed. Late that night a powerful thunderstorm tore through the area. The loud cracks of thunder shook the house. Roman, Jimmy and Jay huddled together in terror and delight as they listened to the wind howl. Afa and the twin’s mother were awake and watchful, but the boys eventually fell back to sleep in a puppy pile. The storm faded to the east as the sun rose, thunder snarling like a wounded beast. As the Anoa’i family emerged from the house, the boys still rubbing sleep from their eyes, they got their first real look at the damage in the dawn’s gloom. The thick air smelled of rain and mud. Afa’s house and barn had been heavily damaged by the gusting winds and hail, but miraculously they lost no livestock. The hay fields had been flattened but it was still early enough in the season for a second cutting. They should have been relieved and happy. The damage could have easily been much, much worse.

But as he looked at the twisted barn, Roman felt like the storm was still coming. The uneasy feeling refused to leave him. He was too hot and it felt like he had snake in his stomach.

As soon as Afa reassured himself that his family wasn’t in danger, he saddled up his riding horse to go check on his brother Sika and his family. Worried, Roman asked if he could go with him. Afa hesitated, then shook his head and told him no. Roman needed to help Jimmy and Jay start chores and get to fixing the fences before the cattle got out.

As the morning dragged on, Roman was feeling almost sick to his stomach. Jimmy and Jay tried distract him but the feeling refused to leave. He wasn’t much help to his cousins as they did their chores, but they didn’t give him a hard time about it. Finally, in the early afternoon, Afa returned. Roman and his cousins were inside the house with the twins’ mother. Jimmy and Jay were eating lunch but Roman was just pushing his food around his plate when they heard the hoofbeats. Leaving their food they raced outside. Afa had aged ten years while he was gone those few hours. Grimly Afa delivered the news. Sika’s homestead had been destroyed completely. A tornado had barreled right over the house, scattering it and most of their barn over an area of at least a mile. Roman’s mother and father were dead in the remains of the house. Roman never knew that Sika was still alive when Afa had found him, impaled through the stomach with a piece of wood. Or that he died in Afa’s arms when he tried to remove the wood. Matthew was found a half a mile from the house. Every bone in his body had been broken.

When Afa told his family what had happened, Roman didn’t feel surprise. Part of him had already known that his family was gone. He asked his uncle later why that was, as they stood next to the mounds of dirt that covered his family.

“When something happens to someone you love, like family, you always know,” Afa answered sadly.

Despite having neighbors that offered to help, the family took care of its own. Afa’s wife cleaned the bodies while Afa made the caskets and the boys dug the graves. Roman remembered the sun glaring down from overhead while he and his cousins dug into the mud to make graves big enough for his father, mother and brother. There were blisters on his hands when they finally finished.

After that, Roman lived with Afa’s family. As he got older into his teenage years, Roman decided chasing cows around wasn’t for him and set out on his own. He had saved enough money for a train ticket and traveled to California where the majority of his father’s extensive family still lived. While he was there he explored the area, seeing the places where his father and uncle had wandered. He once again heard stories about Dwayne Johnson. He decided to become a US Marshal. Changing his name to Roman Reigns, he applied in the Montana territory. Judge Hunter had taken one look at Roman and immediately hired him on. Roman never forgot the pride he had felt when the judge had pinned the Deputy Marshal badge on his chest.

But when he woke up years later on an early Montana afternoon the feeling he remembered was the one he felt right before he learned his family’s fate from Afa, the stomach-clenching unease that something terrible had happened while he was asleep. That something precious had been lost. Drawing a breath, hating the pain deep in his chest, he decided he was done resting. He grunted as he rolled onto his side, gaining enough leverage to sit up. _Move, you stupid fucking body_ , he raged at himself. Black spots burst in front if his eyes and he couldn‘t seem to get enough air past the pain in his chest. But he didn’t let that stop him from trying.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mark asked from across the dead campfire where he was reading a book. His coat was off and shirtsleeves were rolled up. He made no move to get up and help.

“I have to go back,” was all Roman could say before he was robbed of breath by the deep pain shooting near his heart. He shook his head weakly to clear it but that didn’t work. So he gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up and breathe through the pain. After a while it subsided enough for him to open his eyes. He saw Mark watching, expressionless. “What?” he snapped in annoyance, mostly at himself. Something had happened and he was sitting here being useless.

“How far do you think you’ll get before you fall over?” Mark asked, his tone dry as dust.

“Not gonna fall over,” Roman insisted, even as he listed to one side and he had to put a hand down to stop himself from falling over. Unfazed, he forced his body to sit up straight. It was a minor victory. Seriously, it was ridiculous how weak he was.

Evidently, Mark wasn’t fooled in the slightest by Roman’s show of bravado. He scoffed. “It’s only been a day since you were shot. Even if you have the Saint’s strength, your body is still dealing with the shock. What could you do if you go back besides bleed on their shoes when you pass out at their feet?”

“Something happened either to Seth or Dean. I have to go,” Roman insisted. He looked over the where his black horse was grazing next to Mark’s pale mare. He tried to gauge how much strength it would take to get over there and mount up. He would need Mark to saddle the horse though. Riding bareback was out of the question.

“If it already happened, then there is nothing you can do about it. So why do you need go?” Mark asked reasonably.

But Roman glared at Mark. “Because they are my brothers and something happened to one of them,” he insisted. He didn’t want to consider what Dean would do if something happened to Seth and vice versa. The hot feeling in his stomach intensified.

“Even if you make it over to your horse, somehow get on it and then by a miracle manage to get to Helena, the Beast will kill you before you set foot in town.”

Tired of hearing that he wasn’t going to make it and although he didn’t really having a good answer for all the points Mark brought up, Roman decided he was done talking. If Mark wasn’t going to help him…he stubbornly dragged one knee under his body, then the other. _Fuck_!

Mark studied Roman and saw the implacable determination on the young man’s face. Sighing, he stood up. “Kid, you really are a stubborn idiot.” He walked over to Roman and held out his hand. Roman reached up and grabbed the offered hand, using it to lever himself to his feet. The ground promptly tried to slide out from underneath him but Mark caught him with an arm around the waist. Size-wise, Mark was bigger than Roman and held him easily. “For fuck’s sake,” Mark growled as he maneuvered Roman’s sagging body to the nearby wagon, dumping him unceremoniously onto the back tailgate. “Stay here,” he ordered.

“Not going anywhere,” Roman assured him, shaking with weakness. “And don’t call me kid.” Even though he knew now that the Saint of Killers was not Mark, the similarities were still there. Chasing that thought in a new direction, Roman watched Mark catch his mare and throw the harness over her back, fastening the buckles. “You never told me where you’re from,” he realized.

“You never asked.”

“So, now I’m asking,” Roman said, wishing he didn’t sound so damned weak.

“Kid, why does it matter?” Mark asked in return. He didn’t sound defensive or angry, just curious.

“You’ve done a lot for me, and for Dean and Seth. You covered for Randy when he was hurt. Yet we don’t know anything about you.”

There was a long pause as the big man slipped the bridle over the mare’s head. “California,” Mark finally answered.

That got Roman’s attention. “Really? I’ve got family there. Where in Cali?” He had to keep his questions short, due to his breathing issues.

“The south east,” Mark replied.

Roman was very careful not to react to that. “Nothing there but mountains and deserts,” he observed trying to stay casual. Mark didn’t reply. He just led the mare over and hitched her to the wagon. Roman watched as Mark saddled Roman’s gelding and tied to the wagon. If Mark didn’t want Roman to know more about him and his past, Roman wasn’t going to bring it up. But with that tiny piece of information, Roman’s suspicions about Mark grew.

Climbing into the wagon, Mark turned around, giving Roman a measuring look with his pale eyes. “You ready for this kid?’ It’s going to hurt. A lot.”

“Just get going,” Roman said, bracing his body for the stabbing pain he knew he was going to have to deal with when the wagon started moving. His thoughts returned to his brothers. He prayed that whatever happened he could get there in time. Then _they_ would deal with what happened.

Together.

…

As he lay on the ground with hot blood pulsing out of his shoulder, and his cracked ribs grinding together every time he took a breath, Dean swore in rage and frustration. The stiff grasses prickled under his cheek. Owens’ boot remained planted in the middle of his back, keeping him pinned to the ground like a bug. But what was infuriating to Dean the most was that he could feel Balor getting nearer and he was helpless. He tried calling out to the Saint, but there was still no response.

“You know this Balor guy is a demon right?” he gasped up at Owens.

With the same bored tone he used before the fight, Owens shrugged. “Ask me if I care.”

Dean was about to respond with a biting sarcastic comment about Owens’ mother, when they heard the hoofbeats of horses trotting through the trees.

“About time,” Owens grumbled, stepping back away from Dean who raised his head off the ground to see the monster who had come for him. Balor rode into view on a bright chestnut horse. He was, for lack of a better word, a disappointment in Dean’s eyes. He was a good looking but physically unimpressive young man. From the horrible feeling he was getting from the demon, Dean had been expecting long fangs and maybe a single eye. That would have been impressive. But even thought he could feel the demon, Dean couldn’t see it and that was unusual. Riding beside him on a gray mustang was a serious-looking Asian man who Dean knew instantly was not a demon, so Dean ignored him for the time being. He rose to his hands and knees, blood running down his arm. He glared up at Balor defiantly.

Pulling his horse to a stop, Balor dismounted and looked down at Dean. “Dean Ambrose? I’m Finn Balor. This is Hideo Itami,” he said with no preamble. The demon had a thick Irish accent.

Dean didn’t reply, he just kept glaring. Mentally, he called out to the Saint again, hoping this time he would be heard. There still was no reply. Frustrated, Dean realized he was truly on his own. Then, fine, fuck him. _I don’t need you anyway old man!_

Frowning, Hideo dismounted and looked at Dean closely. He spoke to Dean in a foreign language like he expected Dean to understand him, then seeing Dean’s blank expression he turned back to Balor and shook his head.

Pointing at Sheamus’ corpse, Balor asked, “But what about him?”

Hideo walked over to inspect Sheamus’ corpse. He turned the body over and crouched down holding a hand out, not quite touching the face. He turned and said something to Balor in that language Dean didn’t recognize. Balor’s eyebrows rose. “An angel?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Hideo said something else and Balor shrugged.

“For fuck’s sake, what’s he saying?” Owens asked impatiently, holstering his gun. Now that Balor was here, his part of the job was done.

“Itami thinks he may have been touched by an angel, but he wasn’t possessed by one” Balor said with a scowl. “He was killed by a regular gun.”

Dean didn’t ask, but Kevin did. “Yeah, what the fuck was that all about? He was going on and on about angels protecting him. Then Ambrose just pulls on him and puts him down. Guess he was mistaken.”

“The human believed he couldn’t be killed because the angel told him his is protected. Angels are arrogant assholes and are not above lying to gullible humans to get them to their dirty work,” Balor sneered. “They don’t like to get their hands dirty.”

A bit bemused that the demon hadn’t immediately started torturing him, Dean sat back on his heels, one hand pressed over the bullet wound in his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. He wasn’t sure what Balor wanted with him. This demon didn’t seem as intent on Dean’s destruction as the others he’d met. He looked around for his guns, reaching for the one nearby and hissing with pain caused by the movement.

Seeing Dean wince, Hideo left Sheamus’ corpse and walked back over to him. He crouched next to Dean and tentatively put a hand out to Dean’s wounded shoulder. Dean jerked away with a glare, raising the gun he picked and pointing it in Hideo’s face. Hideo sat back and gestured to the wound, still speaking in that same foreign language. Dean was tempted to shoot him to shut him up.

Clearly unhappy that Dean was threatening Hideo, Balor started to step forward, but Hideo waved him off. “He says that the bullet must come out before it gets infected,” Balor translated to Dean. “You should let him take it out. He’s very good. I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

“Fuck off,” Dean warned. After the morning he had so far, including not having any coffee yet, Dean wasn’t inclined to entertain anything besides total destruction of anyone who got near him that wasn’t named Seth or Roman.

Apparently Hideo understood Dean’s answer because he nodded and backed off.

“What do you want with me Balor?” Dean demanded. “If you’re going to torture me, just get on with it. I promise you won’t get any enjoyment out of it.”

“We’re not going to torture you,” Balor looked appalled but Dean wasn’t buying it.

“Your pal Owens said Hunter paid him to catch me and then give me over to you. I can’t imagine it was because he wanted you to give me flowers,” Dean said, sarcasm dripping like venom.

“No, it’s not like that,” Balor said, “We only went to Judge Hunter because he knew where you were and when he saw that I’m a demon, he was very willing to make a deal.”

“Why would Hunter pay Owens to hand me over to you?” Dean asked, still holding the gun in Hideo’s general direction. Balor didn’t like that, but Dean didn’t care. If threatening Hideo kept Balor away, he would keep doing it until he found out what the fuck was going on.

“Well, we may have given him the impression that I wanted to eat your soul,” Balor shrugged.

Truly pissed off now Dean said, “Don’t think for one fucking second you’re actually going to eat my soul.”

Balor raised his hands placating. “I know that, but Hunter doesn’t. We just needed a way to get to you without Hunter interfering. He really hates you Ambrose. He wants your death to be as messy as possible, especially since you killed Marshal Batista. And because I’m a demon, he thought all I wanted was to torture and kill you.” The wind rustled the trees around them, but no birds sang in the demon’s vicinity.

“Well if you’re not going to eat my soul, what do you want? I’ve got better things to do than talk to you,” Dean snarked. Owens had been watching quietly, but with amusement. Dean wanted to punch his face again, just on principle.

“We need a favor,” Balor said, exchanging looks with Hideo.

That was not what Dean was expecting. “I don’t do favors for demons,” he said as he staggered to his feet, white with pain from the bullet still in his shoulder but that was news from a distant country. The only thing that mattered was finding Seth.

“I’m not fully a demon in case you haven’t noticed,” Balor said, sounding a bit defensive.

“Okay, then I don’t do favors for half demons either,” Dean amended, but he holstered his gun and looked around for his horse and other gun. Hideo and Balor conversed again in that other language and Dean got the impression they really wanted something from him. _Well fuck that_. They abruptly stopped talking and faced Dean.

“We would like you to summon the Saint of Killers. We have to talk to him.” Balor said.

Now _that_ was a surprise. Usually demons wanted nothing to do with the Saint. They only wanted to kill his men so that Saint couldn’t manifest and kill them. And the last thing Dean wanted Balor to know was that the Saint wasn’t coming even if he did want to cooperate, which he didn’t. “What about?” he asked, stalling.

“That’s between us and the Saint,” Balor said, firmly.

“Suit yourself. Maybe you should try Orton. You can bet he wouldn’t ask questions,” Dean suggested sarcastically. Randy would kill Balor before he got the chance to open his mouth. Besides, he didn’t have time to waste recovering from the Colt Walkers even if the Saint did come and decided to dispatch Balor. He needed to rescue Seth.

Sharing a frustrated glance with Itami, Balor answered reluctantly. “Hunter sent the Beast after Orton and there is no way we’re getting in the middle of _that_. But I will ask you nicely once more, because my friend here really believes in manners. Will you please call the Saint or am I going to have to get violent?”

Oh, _wrong_ thing to say. Dean did _not_ take kindly to threats. “Nexus already tried that. Ask them how well that worked for them. Oh wait, you can’t. We’ve slaughtered them,” Dean smirked. Truth be told, he hoped it wouldn’t come to violence. Dean had been on the receiving end far too much lately, and even though he gave as good as he got, his body needed a break. Behind Balor, his horse whickered a greeting to Dean’s, which stood off a ways away, reins trailing on the ground. It was too far for Dean to make a run for it. Besides, Dean didn’t run from demons. It sounded like Balor and Itami had gone through a lot of trouble to get to Dean. Maybe he could use that. An idea occurred to him.

“But since you like to make deals, I’ll make you one. I’ll call the Saint,” Dean said, and as Balor started to smile, he finished, “After you rescue my friend from Hunter.”

Shocked, Balor and Hideo stared at him. Owens chuckled. “He’s got balls if not brains, I’ll give him that,” he sniggered as he went to catch his and Dean’s horses and led them over to where the others were. He scooped up Dean’s other gun and handed it to Dean along with his horse’s reins to him. He turned and put a foot in the stirrup of his mount’s saddle, grunting a bit as he swung his weight over.

Mouth gaping, Balor stuttered for a second. “You want us to what?” he asked, baffled.

“You rescue my friend, and then I’ll call the Saint,” Dean said in a take-it-or-leave-it voice. “Otherwise I’m leaving.” He gathered his reins and prepared to mount up.

Balor and Itami seemed to be carrying on an entire conversation with their eyes “Who do you want us to rescue?” Hideo asked slowly in thickly accented English.

Pausing Dean smirked to himself but he was straight faced when he turned back to Balor and Itami. “My friend Seth Rollins was just taken prisoner by Judge Hunter’s goons. Rescue him and I’ll summon the Saint. Maybe I’ll even get him to wait long enough to talk to him before he kills your friend.” Dean said, smirking.

“Summon the Saint first, then we’ll help rescue your friend,” Balor bargained, but Dean wasn’t going to budge.

“Nope, that’s not how this is going to work. You help me get my friend away from Hunter, alive and well, then I’ll summon the Saint.” Hopefully the Saint was over his hissy fit by then and would show up.

Balor looked like he wanted to have a fit himself, but Hideo spoke to him quickly, glancing at Dean every once in a while. Dean got the impression those two really _were_ friends, which was weird considering Balor was a demon. Finally Balor heaved a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbled. “We’ll try to get your friend away from Hunter. Owens, you’re helping us.” He told the overweight man who was turning his horse to leave.

“Wait, what?” Owens asked, startled. He was done with the job he had been paid to do. “You want _me_ to help rescue his friend from Hunter? Hate to break it to you pal, but I’m not going up against Hunter.”

“We’ll pay you,” Balor said, already annoyed at having to make the deal with Dean.

Owens hesitated. “How much?” he asked reluctantly. His greed was clashing with his sense of self preservation. “If we’re up against Hunter it will have to be at least double my usual fee.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll pay you more than enough,” Balor rolled his eyes. Itami started talking to Balor again who looked like he swallowed a lemon. After a minute or so, he heaved a heavy sigh and turned to Dean. “Okay you have yourself a deal. We’ll get your friend away from Hunter. And then you summon the Saint of Killers,” he told Dean. His gaze was skeptical as he took in Dean’s physical condition. “Are you up for it?”

That was a good question. But Dean would never let a bullet wound or cracked ribs get in his way of getting Seth away from Hunter. He turned again to mount up when Itami stepped forward again. He gestured towards Dean’s shoulder as he spoke. Clueless, Dean glanced over at Balor. “I have no idea what he’s saying.”

“Hideo was a warrior priest or something in Japan. He’s offering to help you with your shoulder,” Balor told him. For some reason the demon looked proud of this fact as he looked fondly over at the small young man.

Even though it would take more time than he wanted, Dean knew he wasn’t going to last long with the bullet in his shoulder so he nodded to Hideo. The young Japanese man bowed briefly then gestured for Dean to sit, which he did with a grunt of pain. Hideo knelt in front of him and got to work on Dean’s wound. Trying to get his mind off of what Hideo was doing, Dean asked Balor, “How did you know Hunter would know where I was?”

“It’s no secret. As soon as Hunter learned you were here from his angel buddy Shawn Michaels, he put out a bounty on you.” Balor said, watching Hideo with a soft smile. “There is at least one pair of demons in the area just salivating to get at you. You’re lucky we got to you first.” He looked vaguely sick. He’d met the Ascension. They had been tormenting Hideo for a while when he had first arrived in Japan. Finally, with Balor’s unwilling help, Hideo and Finn had defeated the twin demons. But the Ascension had surfaced in Montana now, no doubt answering Hunter’s call for demons to kill all the Saint’s men.

Except for Orton of course. They had special order concerning _him_.

“But you don’t act all demon-like.” Dean winced as Hideo probed deep into his shoulder. “With the not torturing and killing me and everything.”

When Balor smiled, he looked just like a normal young man. But looks were deceiving and Dean’s skin still crawled at the feeling of the demon. “That’s because I’m not truly possessed. The Japanese know much about demons and Hideo was my friend when Balor came along. When Balor started to possessed me, Hideo bound the demon before it could finish. I’m still me, but with a demon.”

Dean didn’t even try to understand what the hell Balor was talking about. He flinched and then Hideo was holding up the bloody bullet between his fingers. He held it out to Dean. “Uh, thanks,” Dean said uncertainly. Hideo bound the hole with a strip of cloth and stood up, offering his hand to Dean to help him to his feet as well. When he let go of Hideo and tested his balance, Hideo bowed again.

“What about the other demons?” Kevin asked as he adjusted his seat on his stout brown gelding. “Who’s going to take them on?”

Hideo spoke and for the first time Balor looked alarmed and Dean called him on it. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of them,” he taunted. “Aren’t you demons all brothers or something?”

Balor glared at Dean. “No. I’m not afraid of the Ascension. But I'm also not an idiot. I’m as strong as Ascension but they have a nasty habit of ganging up.” Hideo spoke to Balor again, gesturing at Balor’s heart and then back to himself. Balor grabbed Hideo by his upper arms, looking like he wanted to shake the Japanese man but restrained. “No, Hideo. I mean it. You are not going to get close to the Ascension. I won’t let you get hurt again.”

Hideo apparently disagreed and both Dean and Owens watched them argue back and forth until Dean had enough. Time was wasting and Seth was getting further away. “If you two want to stay here and argue, be my guest but I’m going after my friend.” he said. “And good luck getting someone else to call the Saint for you.”

Those two glared at each other and Dean was reminded of Roman and himself in a way. His mouth tightened and he kicked the horse into a jog, not bothering to wait around for Itami and Balor to get their shit together. Owens fell in behind him without a word. His leaving broke the impasse and soon Balor and Itami caught up to them, Balor taking the lead on his chestnut. Feeling better now that he was moving again, Dean lifted his head and let the sun shine on his face. He didn’t trust Balor and his friend. But he would use them and anything else he could to get Seth back safe and sound.

They traveled steadily south, the tracks never wavering in their direction.

Then Balor, who was leading the group pulled up abruptly. “They stopped here,” he said quietly. “And met up with someone in a carriage.”

“How long ago?” Dean asked, looking around. The clearing was quiet. To Dean it felt like the stillness that could only be felt in a cemetery, like sadness lingered in the air. The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the light breeze.

“Not long,” Balor said. He got a funny look on his face like he smelled something strange, but Dean wasn’t looking at him and missed it. He also missed Hideo nodding at Balor, confirming their suspicions. Then Owens called out from a little ways ahead. “Looks like they're all traveling together,” he said when they caught up to him. “There are at least three riding and I’m not sure how many are in the wagon.”

“Is the Ascension with them?” Finn asked Hideo. Itami shook his head. “We need to get close without them figuring out what we’re up to, before those two idiots show up,” Balor said and Hideo nodded. He spoke to Balor who glanced over at Dean.

“What?” Dean demanded. Seeing their shared look, Dean immediately jumped to conclusions and started to protest. “I’m not staying behind.”

“You don’t trust us?” Balor asked, somewhat sarcastically. Behind him, Owens rolled his eyes and snorted.

“Fucking stupid question. Of course I don’t trust you,” Dean said, moving his horse around the two so he could continue to track Seth, but they moved to block him. He glared and put a hand on his revolver. “If you don’t get out of my way…” he started, but Balor interrupted.

“If you’re seen, Hunter will know that we didn’t kill you. With the Ascension in the area, Hunter will send them after you, and believe me they are not as nice as I am,” Balor said. Indeed, he didn't envy Ambrose his fate if he were to fall to those fiends.

Speaking rapidly, Hideo gestured to the tracks and to Dean. Balor replied in fluent Japanese. Growing impatient, Dean asked, “What did he say?”

“Hideo has an idea,” Balor said.

  
TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Shield Reunion (of sorts)

_Warnings: Violence and angst._

_Notes: A big thank you to Kiss316 who as always is magnificent as the beta reader supreme! And another thank you to those that take the time to review. It helps me stay at the computer and write._

**Legend Killer Chapter 18**

It was afternoon as the carriage and its accompanying riders were making good time as they journeyed south towards Helena. A large brute of a man known as ‘Ryback’ rode in the lead, keeping his horse at an easy jog so he wouldn’t get too far ahead of Hunter and the others. He was a new guy in the area and none of the others had worked with him before. He looked impressive as hell, a solid block of muscle and sinew, bald with bad teeth. But to those who knew better, despite the bounty hunter's intimidating appearance, he was still merely a human. There was nothing supernatural about him. However, in his favor he wasn’t quite as sociopathic as Kevin Owens. Ryback had yet to actually say anything beyond a few grunts, but after a day or so of enduring Kevin’s snide comments, Ryback’s menacing silence was greatly appreciated.

Jamie Noble and Joey Mercury rode behind the carriage, alert and with one hand near their weapons. They had proven their loyalty to Hunter despite having fought for the Confederacy. As a reward, they were to be Seth’s personal bodyguards. After what happened to Shawn, Hunter decided that his new heavenly envoy needed more protection. The two men had heard about how close Shawn and Hunter were, but they hadn’t had the chance to meet the charismatic mayor before the Saint offed him. Since this was the first time either of them had met an honest-to-god angel, they were in awe of Seth and very proud of the trust Hunter had shown in them. They had vowed that nothing would get near Seth without going through them first.

The young man that used to be Deputy US Marshal Seth Rollins rode his horse beside the Judge’s carriage. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were curled into a smirk of derision as they made their way through the rugged hills. The angel had never been to earth and it couldn’t even begin to compare to heaven. Earth may have held its own rugged, primitive beauty but Seth was not impressed. He shifted in his saddle, still getting used to his mortal body taken from the unwilling Rollins.

For a good cause, of course.

Guilt wasn’t something the angel knew or understood. Guilt was a human emotion and the angel was a higher being, one of the chosen. He had been sent to the human’s realm to help right a wrong, to neutralize a threat to heaven. That was much more important than the single human soul he was holding captive. If the soul of the young man whose body he occupied was in distress, helpless against the angel’s possession, well the angel wasn’t going to worry about it. Besides, angels were much more important than humans in the grand scheme of things.

“For now, you’ll be the Sheriff of Helena,” Hunter was saying to him.

“Don’t he need to be elected for that, boss?” Jamie asked, scratching at his head.

“Let me worry about that,” Hunter said, annoyed at being interrupted, but Jamie did have a good point. Hunter would have to abuse his authority to pull it off but he had no doubt he could do it. He turned back to Seth. “That way you will have access to all the information about the Saint’s activities.”

Nodding, Seth tried to keep up. He had to rely on the humans for the details about the ins and outs of living on earth, which was irritating but he could live with it. Rollins' memories were surprisingly very helpful and though he could feel Rollins' agony when he violated those memories, the angel was indifferent to the damage he was causing.

“And we’ll be your deputies!” Jamie told him, chest puffed up like a banty rooster’s. “You won’t have to worry about a thing! Joey and I will take care of any problem humans.”

“I don’t care about humans,” Seth sniffed. “I’m only here to bring the Saint of Killers under control.” The wielder of Death's Sword (now guns) was more of a threat to heaven than it was to hell and earth. Rollins' memories of the Saint, especially its last terrifying appearance when Ambrose killed Barrett scared the shit out of the angel. The Saint’s control of his power was dramatically increasing and if he wasn’t put in check soon... Though he would never admit it to the humans, Seth hated the Saint of Killers with a passion borne of fear. It was terrifying that someone who was not the Creator could wield that kind of power.

“Be that as it may, but since your plan to bring the Saint under control is by killing his men, that leaves us humans to deal with demons,” Hunter reminded him. For now he would treat Seth very cautiously until he could get a better feel for the angel’s disposition. Already Seth seemed more driven and fanatical than Shawn. Shawn was willing to work with the Hunter and other humans to a certain extent. He had allowed Hunter to hold off having the Saint’s men killed in order to give them time to take care of the more troublesome demons. It had been Shawn that made the agreement with the Nexus. Personally Hunter hadn’t been all that happy about working with them. Though they were occasionally useful, demons were very hard to control. They were good for keeping Orton and his men’s attention, but Hunter was far too smart to ever trust them, despite what his father-in-law said. Too much carnage attracted unwanted attention. Only the threat of the Saint of Killers truly kept them in check. And that meant keeping Randy alive.

But Seth might not be so willing to listen to reason. He tried to explain to Seth the bigger issue. “The trouble is that demons always want something more, usually human flesh and blood. People dying draws attention. We need to be discrete or there will be trouble from more than just the Saint’s men. We can’t afford to have the Pinkertons sticking their noses into our business. So if we want to keep this under wraps we need more control over the demons.”

Shrugging, Seth shifted in his saddle. “That’s your problem, human. If I remember correctly, you already have humans that can deal with demons. Or you would if you got over your prejudices and stopped killing them.”

Oh, that hurt. Hunter knew Seth was referring to the ongoing persecution of the natives. But that situation was out of Hunter’s hands. The federal government had an army that needed to be kept busy and because the natives had the gall to object to the theft of their lands and identity, they were the perfect targets.

“What about the Beast, boss?” Joey asked. “How are you going to control _that_?”

Even Seth looked interested in the answer to that question. Everyone had heard of the Beast. In heaven there were whispers of its power and brutality, enough to make an archangel pause. Despite his show of bravado, the Beast had genuinely scared Shawn and he made sure to always go through Heyman when he needed to communicate with the Beast.

That question had caused many sleepless night for Hunter. He knew that killing a couple of humans wouldn’t slake the Beast’s thirst for blood and destruction. To Hunter, there had been only one real solution to the Beast and he had already acted on it. “I sent word for Heyman to send the Beast north to the Nations where Orton is hiding. Between the natives and their magic, the Beast will have enough to keep it occupied until Orton kills it. With luck, it will do quite a bit of damage up there,” Hunter shrugged. Sending the Beast after Randy would accomplish two things in Hunter's mind. First, the Beast would die, which was best for all parties. The Beast was too powerful for anyone to truly control. Heyman was their best bet, but even that lowlife lawyer’s influence over the Beast was iffy at best.

And second, it would teach Orton that there was no sanctuary for him, anywhere. Shawn’s death hurt Hunter deeply and he wanted to make sure Randy paid dearly for that by destroying anyone who offered succor to the Legend Killer. The earth spirits that protected the natives’ land were no match for the Beast. Maybe even as little as ten years ago, the Natives could handle the Beast, but not anymore. Most of the old shamans were dead and the younger ones simply weren’t powerful enough to take on the Beast. No, the Beast would destroy more Natives than the army. And Randy would understand that he was the cause.

The angel cocked his head to the side as it sorted through Seth’s memories, ignoring the bright flare of pain he inflicted on the captive soul. “That may not be the case,” he said, indifferent. “After Ambrose murdered Batista, the Saint of Killers stopped answering them.”

That got Hunter’s complete attention and he sat up straight. “Oh really?” That piece of news changed everything. Balor might succeed in killing Ambrose after all. “But the Saint protects Randy like no other,” he said. “Did he abandon him for sure?”

A pause, then Seth nodded. “He’s ignoring Randy.”

Pursing his lips, Hunter immediately started revising his plans. If the Saint truly abandoned Randy, then there would be no one to hold over the Saint of Killers. That would be bad for all parties involved. Earth needed Randy to kill demons; Heaven needed him to control the Saint. And if Balor killed Ambrose and the Beast killed Randy?

Shit.

“I’m beginning to think killing Reigns wasn’t such a great idea,” Jamie observed to Joey in a low voice.

But Seth heard him and turned in the saddle to speak to him. “Roman Reigns isn’t dead,” he told them. “Randy and John Cena got him to the doctor Mark Calaway who saved his life. The doctor hid Reigns away.”

That was an unwelcome bit if news and Hunter cursed under his breath. Not that part about Reigns. Reigns being alive meant there was at least one person who could kill demons if the Saint decided to come back, which was great. He wondered how he could make a deal with Reigns. His eyes slid over to Rollins. Yeah, there was something he could work with there.

But if there was anyone he did not want involved in his affairs, it was Mark Calaway. He didn’t know what it was about the man but instinctively he knew that Mark was not a person to be trifled with. And if he was involved with Reigns and Orton, that meant he was involved in Hunter’s business. Annoyed, Hunter started to make plans to deal with the wayward undertaker.

“Boss, riders comin’.” Jamie said, looking behind them. In the distance, they could make out three riders, leading a fourth horse that was carrying something over its back. “Looks like Balor and his little buddy. Oh, and Owens,” he added with a lack of enthusiasm. He had hoped that maybe Ambrose would at least be kind enough to get rid of that asshole for them. No such luck. “I don’t see Sheamus,” he reported. Sheamus was a braggart and a blowhard but even that was better than Owens.

Hunter pulled the carriage horses to a stop and they waited for the group to catch up to them. With Balor still alive, it looked like Seth was correct about the Saint abandoning Ambrose. After a few minutes, Hideo and Balor pulled alongside them, Hideo leading Ambrose’s mustang. Owens rode past them to take the measure of Ryback, who glared at him. Ambrose’s horse was carrying a body with a blanket thrown over it. Tufts of reddish-blond hair stuck out from under the edge. Hideo sidled his horse up and pulled the blanket aside. They could see the limp body of Dean Ambrose.

Dean’s face was colorless, eyes open and staring. He was dead.

“Good job,” Hunter stated with no small amount of personal satisfaction. Demon killer aside, he had never liked Ambrose. The man was insubordinate and unstable. And after Batista, Hunter’s dislike for Ambrose grew into hatred. Ambrose had cost Hunter the best human ally he could hope to have, and one of his only friends.

The only reason Hunter had kept him around as long as he had was that Ambrose had his uses. The lunatic was as tough as nails, never one to back down and never gave up in a fight. Pairing him with Seth was a stroke of genius on Hunter’s part. With Seth’s stabilizing influence, the duo became a major force in Hunter’s arsenal against the Saint’s men. But in a rare case of misjudgment, he had added Reigns to the group and then it all went to hell. Reigns had the nerve to start asking questions, and the other two had backed him up. That had led directly to Hunter’s rash decision to send them after the Wyatts, inadvertently giving the Saint two more men.

But it had worked out in the end. Now Ambrose was dead, and Seth was Hunter’s most powerful ally.

“Thanks,” Balor replied tightly. Hideo dropped the blanket back over Ambrose.

Though he had looked directly at Ambrose’s body, Seth never once reacted. Puzzled, because this was the person whom Dean had been so adamant they rescue, Hideo gave Seth a measuring look. He was getting a weird feeling from Dean’s friend and he wondered if Ambrose had neglected to tell them everything. Before he could say anything about Seth to Balor, he realized that he didn’t need to. Finn was looking pale and Hideo knew immediately this was going to get messy. Under his breath, he started praying to the local spirits. He’d found that North American spirits were not that much different than their Japanese counterparts. He felt them gathering, but it was tricky since he needed to convince them not to attack Balor, but the horses, specifically Hunter’s.

Hunter was saying, “Now I’ve got another job for you.”

“Need to get paid for the first one,” Owens reminded Hunter, deliberately sidling his horse next to Ryback’s. He got close enough to get an irritated suspicious look from the big guy who moved his horse away. Owens pretended not to notice but subtly kept inching his horse closer.

Hunter ignored both of them. “You’ll get your money.” He slapped the reins to get the horses moving again. The rest of the riders followed. As he prayed, Hideo kept giving Seth strange looks and guided his mount over to Balor, discreetly signaling to his friend to be ready. Gritting his teeth, Finn nodded once. His demon, which was normally just simmering, was now raging so hard Finn was having a difficult time controlling it, even with Hideo’s reinforcements. And it was directly because of Seth.

Ahead, Owens had started speaking to Ryback which meant that soon Ryback was going to respond with violence. Luckily there was no sign of the Ascension yet.

Then Jamie shouted in surprise, “What the hell is wrong with his eyes?”

Finn’s eyes were a deep red. And they were glowing.

Balor was breaking free.

Hideo called out something in Japanese. Owens was shouting in English. Then Balor growled something incomprehensible and all the horses shied nervously at the sound. Jamie and Joey were fighting to control their nervous mounts. With everyone attention occupied, no one noticed Owens throw something Hideo had given him earlier at Ryback’s horse, but the reaction was immediate. The horse bellowed and bucked hard, throwing the surprised mercenary to the ground where he was promptly stepped on by Owens’ horse, which he had stationed conveniently near. The sound of breaking bones was lost in the howl of pain and rage, all of which added to the chaos. Kevin looked down in mock surprise, then ‘accidently’ guided the animal to step on Ryback again, just for good measure. “That’s a shame,” he said, with false sympathy. Then his attention was forced back to his spooked horse when Balor growled again.

In the middle of all the chaos, Seth sat calmly on his horse. The angel’s presence kept the animal placid.

“Get him out of here!” Hunter shouted at Jamie and Joey as he fought for control of his own horses. Hunter didn’t believe for a minute that Balor had broken free on accident. He immediately recognized the distraction and knew the target was Seth. He tried to get the situation under control but his horses were rearing in panic and shaking their heads frantically as something unseen buzzed around their ears. Hunter yanked hard on the reins, swearing in anger as the horses threatened to spill the carriage.

Then from under the blanket on the back of Dean’s horse, two revolvers appeared and fired, bullets hitting Jamie and Joey both; Jamie in the side and Joey in the thigh. They fell to the ground, bleeding and screaming. Dean fired again, the bullets screamed over Hunter’s shoulder and between his horses’ heads, making them bolt in terror. Hunter swore in surprise and anger, giving Dean a vicious look of hatred, but he was forced to deal with the blindly charging horses before they crashed headlong into a tree or over an embankment. Miffed that he had missed Hunter, Dean sat up on his horse, stuffing his revolvers back into their holsters, grabbed the reins of Seth’s horse and sank his spurs deep into his horse’s sides. The two took off at a full gallop.

Not looking back, Dean kept spurring his horse to maintain the blistering pace. He concentrated on heading north with Seth beside him. He felt better away from Balor’s presence but still felt twitchy. It felt like something not human was near, but it didn’t feel like a demon so he ignored it. The only that mattered was making sure he and Seth got away. He looked over to give Seth a maniacal grin, expecting one in response. But Seth was holding onto the saddle, looking straight ahead. He didn’t look relieved or happy. In fact, he looked annoyed. It was weird but Dean decided he would deal with Seth’s issue later when they reached the Nations. Seth was probably pissed it had taken so long for Dean to rescue him. Well screw him then. For now they still had a lot of ground to cover. He hoped Balor, Hideo and Kevin were able to keep Hunter’s men occupied long enough for them to reach safety. But even if they were pursued, Dean had no issue using lethal force to keep Seth out of Hunter’s hands.

After the initial sprint which took them a couple of miles, Dean sat back and allowed his horse to ease back into ground-eating lope to allow the blowing horse to catch its breath. He looked back to see if they were being pursued, but there was no sign of anyone. Balor and Hideo had done their jobs well. He was still annoyed that he missed Hunter, that son of a bitch needed to die. But for now his priority was getting Seth to the safety of the Nations. His thoughts were interrupted when Seth jerked his horse’s reins out of Dean’s hand and hauled back on them, forcing the animal to slide to a stop. Confused, Dean did the same, turning around and trotting back to where Seth was. Both of the horses were breathing heavy but they weren’t played out yet. “C’mon man. We need to move,” Dean said urgently. “Hunter’s goons will be on us.”

“Ambrose,” Seth sneered and the hair on the back of Dean’s neck prickled but despite the warning of instinct, Dean came closer. This was Seth, his brother. If something was wrong…

Without warning, Seth reached out grabbed Dean’s injured shoulder and threw him off of his horse. He landed hard on his back, all the air whooshed from his lungs and his shoulder was on fire. As he lay there, stunned, Seth dismounted and strolled over. He leaned over Dean and grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet easily. Dean sagged as Seth twisted the collar, starting to choke off Dean’s air.

“What the fuck, Seth?” Dean croaked, grabbing at Seth’s hands.

“What do you mean Ambrose?” Seth asked with a smirk. “Why am I doing this? It should be obvious, you unstable lunatic. I don’t need you anymore. I don’t need Roman Reigns anymore. I’m done with the both of you.” He shook Dean with a strength that rivaled Dean’s own.

He was starting to see black spots. But even though this was Seth, Dean wasn’t just going to roll over and let him do this. His sense of self-preservation kicked in and he reached down and grabbed his gun out of its holster. He reversed it in his hand and clocked Seth in the temple with the butt. Seth staggered back, releasing Dean who fell to the ground again, this time he landed hard on his knees, jarring his ribs again. Damn, that was starting to get old.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asked, getting angry. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Seth had always been confident, even cocky. But this was downright arrogant. The ungrateful bastard. Dean had gone and made a deal with a demon, had forgone killing Hunter to save Seth and now Seth was treating him like the enemy. He glared at Seth, and then noticed Rollins’ hair. There was a blond streak. What the hell…Then he looked closer at Seth. And suddenly it felt like the ground fell out from under Dean’s feet.

It wasn’t his brother standing in front of him.

Seth’s shadowed eyes were golden behind the brown. There was something _else_ in Seth’s body, looking out from Seth’s eyes. He suddenly felt cold despite the sun shining directly overhead. “The fuck?” he whispered.

Seeing this, Rollins threw his head back and laughed out loud. There was a cruel bite to it. One Dean had never heard before. Dimly, he realized he was staring in utter shock, mouth hanging open, unable to move. His mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling him.

“What’s the matter, Ambrose?” the _thing_ drawled, eyebrow arched.

“What are you?” he asked hoarsely. He staggered back to his feet with his gun pointed at Seth.

“Ambrose, you are too stupid to figure that out? God, I had to do all the thinking when we were Marshals and now I’m done with it. Even that muscle-bound freak Roman is smarter than you, you dumb son of a bitch. I can't believe you aren't face down in a ditch somewhere.”

“You’re not a demon,” Dean said, still in shock but starting to come out of it. His mind was beginning to function again. The icy cold was giving way to hot rage. He instinctively jerked his revolver up aiming right between Seth's eyes, the need to kill that fucking supernatural piece of shit fighting against the fact that is was _Seth_ he was aiming at. His brother. He felt like he was being torn in half. “What are you?” he asked again.

“You’re so pathetic,” Seth sneered. “You honestly can’t figure out what I am?”

Dean's mind raced. Not a demon, but what? Then he put it together. Randy had killed the mayor. The Saint had gone to war with Heaven. Despite Seth’s cruel words, Dean was very smart. “You’re an angel,” he said flatly. “You possessed Seth.”

With a mocking grin, Seth shrugged on shoulder. “Unbelievable that you actually figured it out,” he said, smug. “But whatever. By bringing me here, you’re making my job that much easier.” He took a step forward, secure in the knowledge that Dean would not fire his gun at Seth.

Dean's response was to cock the hammer back. His expression was one of agonized determination.

Annoyed, Seth batted the gun away. “You're not going to kill me,” he told Dean.

“Want to bet?” Dean asked, bring the gun back to Seth’s forehead.

For the first time, Seth seemed unsure. He knew from Rollins' memories that Dean would shoot him. And _that_ would be inconvenient. But Dean seemed to be forgetting something. The arrogant look came back. “You can shoot me, Ambrose, but it won’t do any good. Not with that gun. And I know the Saint isn't going to come running to help you anymore.”

“I don't need the Saint,” Dean vowed. “If I can't kill you right now, then I will do everything in my power to see that whatever your business is here, that you fail. Every time you turn around, I will be there. And I will make your life miserable.” He now understood the hollowness in Randy's eyes when he had saw Punk because he felt that same unbearable hollowness. Seth had been one of two people in the world that Dean truly loved. With Roman missing, he had tried to take care of Seth like Roman would have. But he had failed and Seth had been taken from him in the cruelest way possible. Seeing Seth like this, and with everything he had understood about possession, his brother's soul had been destroyed by that piece of shit angel. And finally he understood the cold rage the Saint had felt towards those who had taken his family. He couldn't tell if the tears that blurred his vision were from grief or rage.

But his gun never wavered.

Rolling his eyes at Dean, Seth sighed and shook his head. “You moron. I'm here to do one thing, get the Saint of Killers under control. The first step to doing that is to kill you. And I don't even need special weapons for that. I'll just use my bare hands!” Seth started towards Dean, hands curled into fists.

Sick and enraged, Dean started to squeeze the trigger.

“Dean, stop!”

Like a strong arm pulling Dean back from the edge of a cliff, Roman had arrived. Seth looked over, glaring at the newcomers.

Dragging his gaze away from Seth, Dean looked over and saw Mark helping Roman out of the wagon. Roman’s normally tanned face was gray with pain but he was standing on his own two feet. His piercing gaze never left Dean’s.

“So, Roman Reigns, you manged to stay alive after all,” Seth said in a stupid, greasy drawl. “No matter. After I kill Ambrose here, I'll take care of you as well.”

Roman ignored him, only looking at Dean and the gun pointed at Seth’s forehead.

“I have to do this Roman,” Dean insisted, taking a step back. “This fucking piece of shit possessed Seth! It _destroyed_ his soul, now I’m going to destroy it!” he shouted, turning back to Seth who was standing still, smirk fading. He was eyeing Mark and the arrogance was melting away to uncertainty.

“Dean, put the gun away. You can’t hurt him with it,” Roman reminded him as he walked slowly toward Dean, hands easy at his sides.

“You heard him,” Seth chimed in as Dean hesitated. “You can’t hurt me with that little toy.” He was about to say more but Mark appeared behind him and placed a large hand on the back of Seth’s neck, silencing him. He turned to glare at Mark.

“Why don’t you and I go wait over there?” Mark suggested. Although the words themselves were entirely void of menace and the tone was mild, the angel in Seth suddenly knew what was in the Abyss as the pale eyes stared back at him. Eyes wide. he nodded, mouth dry.

“This is such bullshit!” Dean argued. “We can’t just let him get away with this!”

“I know,” Roman said, stopping in directly front of Dean, deliberately placing his weak, aching body between Dean and Seth. He gently put a hand on top of Dean’s gun, lowering it to point at the ground.

“He was our brother!” Dean shouted, unable to believe that Roman being was so calm about it; he himself was shaking with rage.

“I know,” Roman replied. His chest ached fiercely, and not just because of Batista’s bullet.

“It destroyed his soul and now that fucking piece of shit is sitting there, in Seth’s body, like it’s no big deal!” Dean ranted, not understanding why Roman wasn’t reacting to that. He was still holding Dean’s hand down, gun pointing at the ground but the touch was gentle. And yet for the life of him Dean couldn’t lift it back up.

“I know,” Roman repeated, softly.

“Stop saying that!” Dean screamed at him.

Giving Dean a look of god-awful sorrow Roman didn’t say anything. And that made Dean even madder. Self-control was never his strong suit and with everything that had happened, he couldn’t help it. He swung his free fist at Roman, who took the hit head on. Dean’s fist connected squarely with his jaw, snapping Roman’s head to the side. Roman stood for a couple of heartbeats with his eyes closed, absorbing the blow then turned and looked at Dean again. Stunned, Dean could not believe he had hit Roman. The one person who absolutely didn't deserve it. He braced himself for Roman’s retaliation, knowing he deserved it. Hell, he _welcomed_ it.

But Roman only stood there, looking at Dean with that same sad look that finally drained the rage from Dean, leaving only tearing grief in its wake. He swallowed, and to his horror his voice broke when he said, “I’m sorry, Roman.”

“I know,” Roman said and gently reached forward and gathered Dean into his arms. For a second Dean fought him, but feeling those strong arms around him, and the warmth of Roman’s body seeping into his own, something in Dean broke completely. He stopped struggling and buried his head into Roman’s shoulder and cried. Roman said nothing; he just held the lunatic close and let him get it out. The sun was sliding to the west.

After a while, Dean began to calm down and his breathing evened out, relaxing in Roman’s arms. “It’s my fault, Roman,” Dean finally said, sniffing. His voice was hoarse. He was still shaking.

“What?” Roman asked, smoothing Dean’s stringy hair back from his forehead as he held him as tight as his aching chest would allow. They both desperately needed a bath, he thought randomly.

“I was supposed to be watching out for him,” Dean explained. “I tried, but I couldn’t get there in time. I couldn’t save him. And now he’s possessed. And his soul was destroyed.” He clutched Roman’s coat desperately with his hand, the other still holding the forgotten gun.

Roman sighed and closed his eyes. He hated seeing Dean like this. Dean loved Seth. Hell, Roman loved Seth too. Seth was their clever brother. Roman, who barely had time to process what had happened, knew he would have to deal with his grief for Seth later. Right now, Dean needed him to be the strong one. The role he had been born to play. “Dean, we can play this game all day. If I hadn’t gotten shot, I would have been there. I _should_ have been there. We both failed him, Dean. This isn’t on you alone.”

“I hate him like this. That smirking asshole thinks we won’t hurt him,” Dean said as he pulled away from Roman and wiped at his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders to settle his jacket better and slipped his revolver back into its holster. Though the situation was still fucked up, he felt much better. Roman was here. “And the stupid part is he’s right.”

Seeing that Dean was calming down, Mark shoved Seth forward, hand still on the back his neck. “Tell them,” he ordered.

Seth tried to turn and glare at the undertaker, but somehow found it impossible to meet that pale stare. The hand tightened with warning, and Seth acquiesced. “Okay okay, sheesh,” he muttered and turned to the glaring Roman and Dean. “When I possessed this body, I didn't harm Seth,” he said petulantly. Seeing their expressions unchanged, he muttered, “You guys really are idiots.” He looked straight at Roman. “I'm not like a demon. His soul wasn’t destroyed, alright? Seth's soul is still here. I'm just using his body while I’m here in this stupid place. When I leave he'll be fine. Happy now?” he turned back to Mark, whose expression did not change one iota.

“You mean, if I had shot you, I would have actually killed Seth?” Dean asked, feeling cold at the how close he had come to unknowingly murdering his brother, and wanting to shoot the angel more than ever.

“Yes,” Seth snapped, hating to be forced to interact with them. “Any damage you do to this body you do to Seth. But it doesn't matter because I'm here to stay. If you destroy this body, he dies.”

“This is such bullshit!” Dean exploded. “We're not going to just sit around and let you do this.”

“You can't stop me,” Seth pointed out all arrogance again and Roman never realized how slimy Seth could be. He hated that.

“You’re wrong,” Roman growled. _Now_ he could be pissed.

Eyes still red, Dean looked at him in confusion and hope. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re taking this piece of shit north to the Nations where Orton is. We’ll make Crowfoot drive that fucking angel out.”

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman, Seth and Dean head north. But the Beast is already there.

_Warning: Violence and angst._

_Notes: A big thank you to Kiss316 who as always is magnificent as the beta reader supreme! And another thank you to those that take the time to send me feedback. I love it!  
_

**Legend Killer Chapter 19**

“ _We’re taking this piece of shit north to the Nations where Orton is. We’ll make Crowfoot drive that fucking angel out.”_

“You really don’t want to do that,” Seth warned. He wasn't going to let on that that was _exactly_ what he wanted. He looked around, making it look like he wanted to bolt, but didn’t dare make a run for it with Mark right there. Which was not entirely an act. There was something about that man that made the angel uneasy.

“Oh but we really do,” Dean said. His smile was frightening.

“And you don't get a say in it,” Roman told him, eyes flat.

Seeing how upset Seth was acting at the threat of going north brought Dean more pleasure than it should. But he was distracted when Roman abruptly turned gray and his knees start to buckle. Dean and Mark moved to catch him as he sank towards the ground. The strength he had used to comfort Dean had abandoned him.

“Shit Roman, you need to sit down,” Dean told him as he guided Roman’s arm over his shoulder, ignoring his own injuries. With everyone’s attention fixed on Roman no one saw the sly look of satisfaction cross Seth's face.

“I’m okay,” Roman gasped which was a blatant lie. Dean and Mark practically carried him to Mark's wagon and eased him into the back, where Mark gave him some water infused with herbs to help with the pain. A quick check showed that although the bullet wound in his chest was red and swollen, it had not reopened. After a few minutes, Roman nodded his thanks to the two men. His gaze slid over to Seth and he grabbed Dean’s gun out of its holster and pointed it at Seth. “Let’s see how fast you can run if I shoot you in the knee,” he suggested.

Seth, who had been edging away, immediately stopped. He looked annoyed and afraid, which suited both Dean and Roman just fine.

“Your turn,” Mark said to Dean, seeing the dried blood on Dean’s shirt. Dean knew better than to argue with the doctor and wincing, took his shirt off. While Mark examined his shoulder, the lunatic glared at Seth, who pretended not to notice just to aggravate Dean, which worked. Studying the wound, Mark commented that Hideo’s field surgery was exemplary and Dean, true to form was healing fast. Seeing Dean continue to glare at Seth, Mark sighed and told Dean “Brat, settle down and get on your horse. And you,” he pointed at Seth, “You’re in the back with him,” he gestured to the back of the wagon and Roman, who looked less than thrilled.

“You’re not my boss,” Seth argued rebelliously, but he shut up when Mark gave him _that_ look, and stomped over to the wagon. Hopping up beside Roman, he pulled his knees up to his chest and stuck out his lower lip.

“For fuck’s sake, are you actually pouting?” Roman asked incredulously.

Instead of answering, Seth turned his head away and pretended to ignore them.

“Here,” Mark handed Dean the reins to Seth’s horse. “So the sneaky bastard doesn’t get any bright ideas.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the wagon and with a twitch of the reins, the pale mare set out at an easy trot, heading north.

As they made their way towards the territories, wagon jolted unavoidably over some rough ground and Roman winced, putting a hand to his chest in a vain attempt to ease the pain. Seth uncurled and looked speculatively at Roman. Roman ignored it as long as he could but suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” he snapped impatiently. He was in more pain than he had let on to Mark and Dean, and not just because he had been shot. That thing sitting next to him was using Seth's body and trapped his soul for some unknown purpose. That sickened and enraged him. Knowing he was too weak to be of any help to Dean and Seth was the final straw. His temper was getting the better of him.

Hesitantly Seth leaned forward. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot. But if you insist on this stupid course of action we need to work together if we want to survive,” he said.

Floored, Roman stared in disbelief. This asshole was actually proposing they work together? Fuck that!

“I'm serious! This is not my fault!” Seth protested, easily interpreting Roman’s nonverbal response. “You think I wanted to come here to this ugly place? I hate it here. I didn’t pick this body. Hunter did. I didn’t get a choice. And now you're dragging me to Orton? Well guess what? Hunter sent the Beast after Orton! Do you think I want to be anywhere near that shitstorm? Especially with two crippled humans and an old man?” The angel was quickly realizing how easy it was to lie, especially since there was some truth mixed in. No wonder humans did it so often. He could tell Roman didn't believe him but there was a bit of doubt there too. Seth wanted to build on that doubt. To his surprise, Dean grudgingly supported him.

“He's not lying Roman,” the lunatic said unhappily. “Hunter did send the Beast after Orton. Bálor told me.”

Dropping his head into his hands, Roman knew they were fucked. Neither Dean nor himself could take on the Beast by themselves even if they were at one hundred percent. Not without the god-damned Saint who had gone off on vacation for all he knew. Maybe the three of them could do it if Orton wasn't already dead by the time they got there.

“It's not just Orton, Hunter wants the Beast to destroy Crowfoot too,” Seth supplied, turning the screws just a little bit more.

“Fuck, and of course he’s the only one that can get rid of you,” Dean said, frustrated. He studied Roman, noting how weak and pale his brother was. He made a decision. “Roman, you're still too weak for this. You should stay here with Mark and the asshole. I'll go help Orton and bring back Crowfoot.” No sooner said than done. He started to turn his horse to go around the wagon.

“No! Fuck that!” Roman snarled in rage, pale at the thought of Dean taking on the Beast without him. He sat up straight, gritting his teeth against the pain. “We are not getting separated again. I don't care if I have to crawl there. _If you go, I go_.” Roman’s intensity made Dean pause. He studied Roman, then pressed his lips together and nodded reluctantly.

Looking between the two of them, Seth said in wonder, “You're really willing to take on the Beast to get Seth back even as weak are you both are?” Seeing the two glare at him, Seth made a show of biting his lip. He took a deep breath and tried to look earnest. “What Hunter did was wrong, I know that. Even though I can't undo what he did, I want to help.” He knew he was laying it on thick but it seemed to be working.

“Bullshit!” Dean scoffed.

“I'm not evil,” Seth said, exasperated.

“What is it you think you do to help us?” Roman asked, skeptical.

“I can heal you.” Seth offered. “You'll be good as new if you have to face the Beast. Better even!”

Neither Dean nor Roman saw that coming. They stared at Seth for a few seconds then Dean flushed with rage. “Oh for fuck's sake! Do you think we're idiots? There's no way we're going to believe your bullshit!” Dean shouted at Seth.

Giving Dean a withering look, Seth turned to Roman. “I'm serious. I can heal you.” He kept the earnest, honest expression on his face.

“Mark?” Roman asked, not taking his eyes off Seth. He hated that he hoped Seth could do what he claimed. “Can he do that?”

“He's an angel,” Mark replied, keeping his eyes forward. “Which are diametrically the opposite of demons. Demons spread disease and destruction; so it stands to reason that angels can heal if they are so inclined.” Of course once Mark confirmed it, they believed it.

“Even so, I don't trust him,” Dean insisted.

“Wells that’s good, because otherwise you’d be an idiot,” Mark agreed. “But you have to ask yourself: do you want to face the Beast as you are now? Because if you do, you're going to get torn apart. Literally.” He steered the pale mare around a low hill.

Hearing Mark say that out loud made it real and Dean and Roman traded sober looks. “What do you think?” Dean asked Roman. He trusted Roman’s instincts more than his own.

But instead of immediately accepting, Roman asked Seth, “What’s your game? First you try to kill Dean, and threaten me, now you want to help us?”

“I told you, I didn’t pick this body, Hunter did. I don’t want to be here at all. And since you’re so fucking determined to take me to this Crowfoot, we have to through the Beast. Even in Heaven we’ve heard of it. It was the most powerful demon in hell. And to be honest it scares me. Neither of you are in any condition to face it without the Saint of Killers. So its real simple, if I want to live, I have to help you.” Seth said. He was using every ounce of persuasion he could muster.

“I don't trust you,” Roman said.

“Fine, if you don’t want my help then use that gun on me and get it over with now,” Seth said, sounding like he was done with them.

Sighing, Roman shook his head. His instincts were ticking over that Seth had some sort of agenda. But Roman was in too much pain to figure out what it was. And to get Seth back, he needed his strength. He needed to be _whole_. He came to a decision and hoped he wasn’t going to regret it. “Okay, heal me,” he said.

Mark stopped the wagon and turned to watch. He didn’t say anything.

Dean pulled his revolver and pointed it at Seth. “If you try anything funny I’ll blow you away,” he warned.

Ignoring him, Seth reached out and touched Roman’s forehead. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, channeling some of his power into Roman, carefully easing the hurt and knitting the torn tissue. Gradually, the color came back into Roman’s face and he could feel his strength returning. When Seth removed his hand, he couldn’t help but smile and sigh in relief at the complete absence of pain. Even the bullet wound he had gotten when Kane had shot him was gone. Then he scowled. He hated owing the angel anything. “Thanks” he said grudgingly. “But don’t think for a second we’re going to trust you.” Seth just rolled his eyes. Feeling amazing, Roman hopped out of the back of the wagon and untied his horse’s reins. Reveling in the sheer lack of pain, he swung up into the saddle.

“You’re turn?” Seth asked Dean. Dean kept the gun pointed at Seth, who slid out of the back of the wagon after Roman and walked beside Dean’s horse. He looked up. “Do you like to be in pain?” he asked sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” Dean said.

“Get your ass down here so I can heal you,” Seth ordered, sounding like his old self and Dean actually did as he was told before he could stop himself. He reached out to Dean, who glared suspiciously.

“Just let him do it Dean,” Roman said. The sun was sinking towards the mountains in the west. They were running out of time and light. And they really didn’t want to run into the Beast in the dark.

After Seth healed Dean, he walked back to the wagon, but Mark's waved him off. “This is as far as I go,” he told them.

“You’re not coming with us?” Roman asked, disappointed. In all the chaos, Mark had been a rock.

“Nope, you guys are good from here,” Mark said.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked. He too was disappointed, but Seth had a hard time not smiling in relief.

“None of your business,” was the answer in a tone that no one had the nerve to question.

Roman guided his horse over to Mark and held out his hand. “Thanks man, I owe you. Again.”

“Kid, just don’t die,” Mark said as he took the offered hand and shook it. “And make sure the brat doesn’t do anything too reckless.” He jerked his head at Dean who scowled. “Watch your back,” he warned in a low voice as he nodded to Seth who was sitting nearby on the paint horse. Roman nodded and Mark shook the reins to get the mare moving back the way they had come.

“Are we ready?” Seth asked, impatient.

“One minute,” Roman answered and pulled a tie-down off his saddle. He rode over to Seth and told him to hold out his wrists.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Seth said, looking around for help but there was only Dean, who raised his eyebrows as if to ask what the problem was. “For fuck’s sake,” Seth muttered and did as he was told. After Roman had tied his wrists together, Seth asked again. “Are we ready now?”

Nodding, Roman touched his heels to his horse and set out at a ground-eating lope. Dean and Seth did the same. In a few steps they entered the land of the Blackfoot people.

~~~~~~

Randy and John had been walking for miles. Leading his horse, Randy had kept a steady pace, always keeping the mountains to their left. The demon Punk hadn’t moved, still paralyzed by the venom of the viper’s bite. John’s headache was fading a little but the lump on his head where he had been hit with a rock still stung. The mist which had shrouded them when they had entered the natives’ territory had cleared but that didn’t make John feel any better. He was unable to stop himself from glancing west at the towers of sheer granite rising thousands of feet into the sky. The air was so clear he couldn’t tell if they were a few miles away or a hundred. There was nothing like them out east and for some reason John felt uneasy just looking at them. He didn’t say anything though. The silence between him and Randy weighed heavily. He was still feeling guilty about snapping at Randy earlier and searched for a way to mend the gap he had made. Finally he just decided to man up and apologize. He turned to Randy but Randy was frowning and his free hand was near his gun. “What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“The scouts should have found us by now,” Randy said, his voice equally soft. He stopped and took a long look around. “Something’s not right.”

John looked around as well. Despite the ominous mountains to the west he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But after the incident with Reigns getting shot, he trusted Randy’s instincts and experience. “What do we do?” he asked.

But Randy held up a hand for more silence. While John waited, Randy stretched out his senses, trying to get a feel for what was out there, making his instincts scream at him. To his annoyance, the proximity of the demon Punk was interfering with his ability to sense other demons in the area. The Blackfoot magic normally kept demons from voluntarily entering their territory, but he still felt very uneasy. “Let’s keep moving,” he said finally, turning to walk north again. John nudged the mare with his heels and followed.

They had only made it a few steps further when far above an eagle screamed a warning and with a surge of adrenaline Randy _knew_. “Fuck,” he said and turned to John. “Get off your horse,” he ordered while he grabbed Punk off of his roan. John obeyed and as soon as he quit the saddle, Randy was heaving Punk’s body onto the bay mare’s back, ignoring her squeal of terror at the demon. He looked John dead in the eyes and ordered, “Keep heading north. Get him to Crowfoot.” And with that he vaulted into the roan’s saddle without bothering with the stirrups, turning the horse to the south.

“What is it?” John asked, fighting with the mare. But Randy had already slapped the horse’s rump hard with the ends of the reins. The horse leaped into a full gallop within three steps and was out of sight soon after. Swearing under his breath, he yanked on the mare’s reins to keep her attention on him instead of Punk. She followed, trembling with terror. The whites of her eyes were prominent.

“Good luck,” he said in the direction Randy had gone, and turned back north. Whatever was out there he hoped Randy could deal it.

Now that he was away from Punk’s noxious presence, Randy could clearly sense the Beast. It was far too powerful to be bothered by the magical boundaries of the territory and it was moving in his direction. A litany of swear words repeated themselves in his mind. He shook his head and worked on coming up with a strategy to deal with the Beast. It was a hell of a lot stronger than he was. If it got its hands on him he was dead. His only advantage was speed. He had to be faster than the Beast.

The roan jumped easily over an arroyo. The wind in his face from the horse’s speed was making his eyes water. He blinked away the moisture and far in the distance he saw it, waiting for him on the prairie. Its face was a mask of dried blood and it was smiling. Randy could see the demon in its human shell and he shuddered. It was monstrous.

_Old man, I need you! Please!_

He had never begged before. But there was only silence where an answer once would have been given. Swearing in frustration at Saint’s continued absence, he guided the racing horse to go wide around the Beast’s left side. If he could draw it back the way it had come, he might be able to lead it away from the center of the Blackfoot territory, giving the people more time to get away. He owed Crowfoot that much. The old shaman was the closest thing he had to a living family. He had taken Randy under his protection when Randy was still a novice demon killer. Without Crowfoot, Randy would have been killed before his third demon. Now it was Randy’s turn to protect Crowfoot. He drew his gun, his ordinary reliable Smith and Wesson and aimed it at the Beast who only laughed as three bullets blasted into its chest. But the ploy worked. The Beast started running after Randy.

In the years since Crowfoot had given the big roan to Randy as a gift, he learned no other horse could match its speed or stamina. It had literally saved his life on several occasions. He had wondered about the animal but as far as he knew, it was just a horse. Randy had come to trust it completely. Yet he had only asked the horse for its top speed a handful of times. Running flat out was dangerous on this type of terrain even though the horse had never once put a foot wrong. He leaned forward and with a soft voice encouraged it to go even faster. The horse flicked its ear back and somehow found more speed. The miles he and John had walked for hours were erased in minutes.

And yet it wasn’t fast enough. Randy looked back and saw the Beast was slowly gaining on them.

Looking forward, he gauged the terrain and his options. There were large boulders and granite outcroppings, along with sagebrush dotting the rolling hills. It wasn’t the ideal place for a game of Keep Away, but it would have to do. He knew he was nowhere near strong enough to take on the Beast, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have to do it alone. The spirits that inhabited the territory hated demons as much as he did. They had helped him before and he knew they would help him now. He waited until they were closing in on a large, flat-topped boulder, one that was about as big as a horse. He drew his feet up and crouched on the saddle, careful balanced. He knew he would have to time his jump perfectly. If the horse stumbled now, he would fall off and it would be game over. But it didn’t and Randy jumped from the racing horse to the top of the boulder, landing easily and pulling his revolvers. The sun was behind him so he had an unobstructed view of the Beast. His eyes widened at the rate the Beast was approaching but otherwise he didn’t move. Adrenaline overrode any pain he had been feeling from his shoulder and he prepared himself. Below him, in the grass he could hear a warning rattle and he grinned viciously. He drew a slow breath, his focus narrowed to a single pinpoint. Then the Beast came in range and Randy emptied the barrels into it.

Nine bullets found their mark, and didn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

Annoyed but not surprised, Randy holstered the guns, just as the Beast reached the boulder Randy had been perched on. With a single leap it jumped up to him, only to be met with both of Randy’s feet in its face. The force pushed the Beast right back off the boulder. It tumbled down with a complete lack of grace, howling in rage. The howl transformed into a scream of pain. From Randy’s vantage point, he was able to see the Father of Snakes sinking its long fangs into the Beast. The spirit venom would burn through the Beast’s veins, slowing it down.

“Thank you Grandfather,” he muttered. Even at a great distance Crowfoot was keeping his promise that Randy would never fight alone.

Taking a precious second to look around, he saw a massive Bear a short distance away, watching and waiting. He nodded at it. The Beast roared again, and Randy’s stomach sank as the Beast grabbed the huge rattlesnake and threw it far away. It would take time for the venom to work on something that powerful. Too much time, Randy saw now as the Beast turned its red eyes back to him. His guns were empty and he didn’t have time to reload before the Beast charged again. Randy braced himself, and dropped abruptly to his belly at the last second. The momentum of the Beast carried it past Randy but it quickly recovered. Randy rolled off the boulder, landing lightly and sprinting away. If he could just stay away from the Beast for a little while longer…

A huge hand grabbed him by his shirt collar and hauled him off his feet. Without thought he reached up and using the arm for leverage, he pulled himself over the Beast’s shoulders. He wrapped one arm around its neck. Using his weight he forced the Beast’s weight forward, off balance they smashed into the ground with the Beast bearing the brunt of the impact. Panting, Randy hopped up back to his feet and backed away. He scowled when he felt his empty holsters. The guns had fallen out during that last move. Oh well, they hadn’t done much good anyway. Then the Beast was up again, its movements slightly slower and Randy couldn’t help the cocky grin. Bad move. Enraged the Beast lunged, much faster than before, catching Randy in the left side with a fist. He heard his ribs break. Then the Beast picked him up again and this time, threw him spinning away. He landed hard in the grass. The world spun about him as he tried to get to his hands and knees. He couldn't draw a breath. A shadow fell over him and he looked up into the Beast’s eyes. He glared defiantly but knew deep down that he was going to die.

“He’s getting his ass kicked,” Dean observed to Roman, eyes wide. Seeing it up close as it moved in on Randy was terrifying. That Randy was going toe-to-toe with it was incredible. Dean grinned savagely as he jumped off his horse, drawing his gun and putting two bullets into the Beast's back, drawing its attention from Orton. He holstered his gun and cracked his knuckles, swaggering towards the Beast. He wasn’t going to let Randy Orton outfight him.

“Untie me,” Seth urged Roman. “Otherwise the Beast will kill both of them.”

Scowling and pressed for time, Roman just tossed him his knife and told him to do it himself. He hurried after Dean.

Ahead, Dean was punching the Beast with his fists for all he was worth. The Beast's eyes were blazing red, and the power was rolling off of it like heat waves as it swatted Dean away like a fly. Dean flew backwards, but was able to roll with the momentum, coming to his feet. “How do we stop it?” he shouted to Randy who had made it back to his hands and knees, coughing up blood.

He shook his head to clear it. “We don’t,” Randy said, between gasps. “That will,” and for the first time they noticed the giant Bear crouched among the sage brush. It was growling at the Beast, but not getting closer.

“Holy shit!” Dean shouted in surprise. That size of that spirit was monstrous. But even so, it was obvious that even that wasn’t strong enough take out the Beast. The Beast roared and headed for Dean. With a shout, Roman speared the Beast through the midsection, sending it crashing to the ground and quickly rolled to his feet, getting out of the Beast’s reach before it could recover. Randy staggered to his feet, arm cradling his middle. The three of them surrounded the Beast and for a brief moment, the Beast hesitated. It wasn't sure which one of them to try to destroy first.

Then, almost flying through the air, Seth slammed his knee into its head, channeling his power to strengthen the blow. The angel's power staggered the Beast and it went to one knee.

“Nice!” Roman shouted, eyes bright with battle rage. The blow and the venom started to weaken the Beast; the power rolling off it faded just the smallest bit. Now finally seeing some progress Roman and Dean redoubled their efforts, tag teaming their attacks on instinct. Seth laughed out loud as the Beast went down to its hands and knees after a crushing blow from Roman's fist, and ran in and stomped down with all his supernatural strength. His boot drove the Beast's head into the ground. Then they all took a step back to assess the situation.

For a few seconds, the Beast lay still. The only sound was the heavy breathing from Dean and Roman. Seth, who had sat out most of the fight and bided his time, looked fresh as a daisy. They exchanged tentative grins. The sun had set behind the mountains, casting their deep shadows over the battlefield.

Then the Beast stirred and sat straight up.

“Fuck!” Roman breathed. They had thrown everything they had at the Beast and it was still getting up.

They all tensed, ready to attack again but the coughing roar of the great Bear made them back away. The Beast looked up at it, and for the first time it looked afraid. The Bear charged in, picked up the Beast’s body in its claws. The Beast howled in rage and pain as it struggled to break free. The Bear threw the Beast to the ground and crushed it under its massive weight. They could hear bones breaking. Desperate, it pulled itself out of the Bear's hold, gave Randy one final look of hate, then turned and ran away south, faster than their horses could run. Far above, an eagle keened.

Growling a warning, the Bear’s eyes glowed white as it looked directly at Roman. Then it followed after the Beast. For a long moment it was silent, but there was vibration in the twilight air like an inaudible violin note. Randy sank to his knees, cradling his midsection. With a huge grin Seth wrapped his arms around Dean and Roman’s shoulders. “We did it!” he shouted. The thrill of victory filled them and for a brief second, they forgot it wasn’t Seth who had fought alongside them as they shared their victory.

They should have remembered Mark's warning.

They should have remembered.

But they didn’t. Seth’s expression changed into smug satisfaction as he channeled his power into his 'brothers'. Too late Roman and Dean tried to fight it, tried to pull away from him but their limbs were suddenly very heavy and they sank to the ground, unable to stay on their feet.

“Thanks for helping me track down Orton. I couldn’t have done it without you,” Seth said with sincerity.

“Motherfucker,” Dean slurred as his eyes closed. Roman didn't even get the chance to say anything. Within seconds they were in a deep sleep. Standing over them, Seth studied them thoughtfully. He had intended to kill them, but the soul of the body he inhabited rebelled in distress at that and had been forced him to merely put them to sleep. Interesting. He would have to do something about that soul when he got the chance. Looking down at the two sleeping avatars of the Saint of Killers, he said, “You guys are lucky I don't have much time,” he told them. He turned and walked over to Randy who was struggling to his feet as he glared at Seth.

“You son of a bitch,” Randy growled. He fought the darkness that gathered at the edges of his vision. He could see the angel inside Seth and though it was beautiful, it was a treacherous beauty. He wasn't afraid of it but seeing what Seth had done to Roman and Dean, he knew better than to let Seth get near him. He backed away, looking around for his horse. Not seeing it, he whistled through his teeth and heard an answering nicker in the distance. “What did you do to them?” he asked, stalling for time. Where were the earth spirits?

“I just put them to sleep,” Seth shrugged. “I owed them since they did me the favor and brought me here.”

“They _brought_ _you_ here?” he asked, shocked and disappointed. They should have known better.

“They wanted Crowfoot to get rid of me so I played along to get to you,” he grinned, shaking his head at their naivety. Cocking his head to the side, Seth examined the Legend Killer with a decidedly arrogant air. “So you’re Orton, the one the Saint cares so much about?” he asked, studying Randy with interest. “I’ve been sent there to get the Saint under Heaven's control, so that means you’re coming with me.”

“I don't think so,” Randy told him as his horse trotted up to him. He was reaching for the reins when Seth whipped out the knife Roman had tossed to him earlier and stood over the sleeping Dean. “Get on that horse and I'll cut their throats,” he threatened.

Randy hesitated. In the time he had spent with those two boys, despite his best efforts he had grown fond of them. Memories of Ted and Cody flashed through his thoughts and he felt sick. The last thing he wanted was for Roman and Dean to suffer a similar fate.

“I'm not bluffing,” Seth promised. To demonstrate, he crouched down and pressed the knife into Dean's jugular. Big drops of blood showed black in the deepening twilight.

Seething hatred grew inside of him but there was nothing he could do except what Seth told him. Stepping back away from the horse, Randy raised his hands in surrender.

“Good boy,” Seth smiled, all sunny again. He stood up and left Dean and Roman lying in the tall grasses. “You've got guts,” Seth praised him, seeing Randy's defiance. “Taking on the Beast alone like that. Not too smart, but you do have guts. And to show you I have no hard feeling for killing my brother, I'll even heal you.” He reached a hand out to Randy but drew it back, frowning. “You're demon-marked? That's unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?” Randy asked, taking a wary step back, still fighting against the blackness creeping around the edges of his vision as he glared daggers at Seth. His side felt like it had been caved in.

“Demon power doesn’t mix well with mine. And by ‘well’ I mean ‘at all’. I'll have to brute-force things with you. And that's going to hurt. A lot.” He reached out again but this time Randy was ready. He swung his fist as hard as he could, but he was hurt and Seth was slightly faster. His fist only grazed Seth's jaw, leaving Randy slightly off balance but it was enough. Seth grabbed his neck and with a growl, shoved his power into Randy. The demon-mark that Benoit had branded across his shoulders flared in opposition to the angel's power and Randy screamed in agony as the two opposing powers burned through his mind and soul until darkness overwhelmed him.

As Randy slumped to the ground, Seth gasped for breath. Overriding the demon-mark had had forced him to use much more of his power than he would have liked. And until he got Randy to a secure location, he would need to keep channeling his power to ensure the Legend Killer remained unconscious. The strength behind that blow would have taken the head off a normal human being. Had Randy had landed it square it would have hurt Seth badly. He reached down and rolled Randy onto his stomach so he could inspect the marks closer. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he recognized it. “Looks like Benoit had intended to keep you alive for a little while at least,” he told the unconscious man. “Demons are so disgusting.” Seth picked him up easily and slung him over the back of his horse. Mounting up, he secured the reins of Randy’s horse to his saddle and set out. The mountains looked like fangs under faint glow of the last bit of sunset.

They met up with Hunter and his injured party before the sun rose.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Roman meet Crowfoot and others. Hunter lays out his plans for Randy.

_Warning: Swearing._

_Much, much thanks to the awesome Kiss316, who, even though she was not feeling well, took the time to find my typos and my inconsistencies. She is amazing!_

**Legend Killer Chapter 20**

_The gunslinger walked steadily forward, guns drawn. Things ran ahead of him. Things that howled with fear and bewilderment. Things that thought they were immortal. Things that were never supposed to die. Behind the gunslinger there was only cold and stillness._

_And silence_

Disoriented, Dean returned to consciousness. There was cool wetness on his throat and warm breath on his face. He peeled open his eyes and looked directly into the bright eyes of a huge Coyote standing over him. The Coyote lolled its tongue out and laughed at him as he scrambled away in surprise. "Get out of here, mutt!" he hollered. It may have been the moonlight, but Dean swore the Coyote winked at him before it turned around and disappeared into the dark. He reached up and felt his neck, fully expecting to find a bite there from the coyote but it felt like only a shallow cut, little more than a scratch. He frowned, unable to remember how he got it. Bright stars blazed above him and the full moon rode the western sky, illuminating the towering granite mountains. Then memories came flooding back and with a quiet curse he looked around for Roman. Dean found him lying on his back nearby. There was no sign of Seth or Randy, or their horses.

"Roman," Dean whispered, reaching over to shake Roman's shoulder. "Wake up."

Eyebrows twitching as he groaned low in his throat, Roman peeled opened his eyes. "What the fuck?" he asked. His voice was hoarse. He raised a hand and rubbed his forehead, feeling hung over. Then he remembered and sat up abruptly, looking around for Seth.

"He's gone, and so is Orton." Dean said with disgust. Scanning the area he saw something gleaming faintly in the moonlight. It was Randy's Smith and Wesson's. He picked them up, idly twirling one. By their weight he could tell they were empty. "We fucked up, Roman. We led Seth right to him. We were so stupid!" He kicked a rock in frustration. It rolled a few feet away then stopped.

Still sitting on the ground, Roman felt sick. Seth had played them like a violin. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to think of something productive they could do, something to reverse the damage they caused. He failed.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked. Judging by the position of the moon, Seth had a head start of several hours and they had no horses.

"I don't know," Roman admitted. Dean dropped to the ground beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, they sat in the grass, completely dejected. The prairie was dead silent except a bare breath of wind through the tall grasses. The pre-dawn air was cool and slightly damp. Roman sat up straight when he saw a light in the distance. He had no idea where it had come from. One minute the prairie was dark, the next minute there was a flickering fire. With no better option, he nudged Dean and gestured to the fire. "Guess we should check it out," he suggested.

Dean shrugged. It beat sitting there in the damp grass.

They walked up to the crackling and popping campfire. The only occupant was an old Native American sitting cross-legged and staring into the fire. The flickering light deepened the age lines of his face. Though he was ancient, there was an unmistakable aura of great power around him. Dean and Roman looked at each other. They didn't need to be told who he was. His lively dark eyes shifted to Dean who crouched down opposite him while Roman remained standing. The old man gestured and spoke to Dean, his voice was deep. The liquid language he spoke wasn't English. Dean just shook his head. He didn't understand.

"He says Coyote thinks you are crazy like he is," a familiar voice said as a new figure limped into the circle of firelight. It was Punk, standing tall with a scowl and his arms crossed.

"Holy shit!" Nearly falling over, Dean scrambled back to his feet in shock. "Punk?" he asked, his voice was hoarse with surprise and his hand was on his revolver ready to draw. Then Dean realized Punk didn't feel like a demon. His next thought was it was a hallucination. And yet with a quick glance at Roman, he could tell Roman could see him too. His mind raced back to the previous morning. He had a thousand questions, but all he managed to ask was, "How?"

"Told you I was protected," the black-haired man said. Both Roman and Dean gawked at him, unable to fathom how it was possible. Punk didn't have the time or the inclination to tell them how his soul was connected to all the souls of his people and most importantly to their land. The demon couldn't destroy it when it possessed him. But he had been lucky Randy and Dean had no access to the Colt Walkers and Randy had brought him home. As an added bonus, rattlesnake's spirit venom had poisoned the demon, making it much easier for Crowfoot to drive it out of his body and for Punk's soul to return. Dwelling with his people in the spirit lands had finally brought him a sense of peace and belonging. Being forced to return was extremely painful and heartbreaking. Crowfoot had apologized but Punk was still needed for a time in this realm. Still, Punk wasn't in a good mood. He limped up to Dean and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, jerking him forward. His face was dark with anger and not just because his leg still hurt from where Dean had shot him. "Why did you bring the angel here? Do you know what the hell you've done?" he demanded.

"It's holding the body and soul of our friend captive. We brought it here to ask Crowfoot to drive it out," Roman said, stepping towards them trying to calm the situation. "He tricked us."

"That's because you're idiots," Punk told them, letting Dean go with a shove. "Legend Killer was under our protection. Because _you_ brought it here, the spirits didn't attack it. They sensed the two of you were like him. They would have defended him otherwise!" Roman's jaw clenched. Randy had thought he was safe here and they fucked that up. Fuck. "And now Hunter has Legend Killer thanks to your stupidity." Punk stepped into Roman's personal space.

"Hey! We didn't know!" Dean shouted back, moving in to shove Punk away from Roman. "Yes, we fucked up, we not denying it. But I'm not going to let you talk to Roman like that."

"Knock it off!" Crowfoot told them. His flat accent was very thick but they could understand him. "You sound like a couple of old women."

Startled Dean and Roman looked at the old man. "He speaks English?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, but only when he's really pissed off," Punk said, annoyed with himself. He had let his temper get the better of him and time was precious.

Satisfied he had their attention, the old man gestured for them to sit around the fire. After they arranged themselves, Crowfoot threw a handful of sweetgrass into the fire and started intoning a prayer to the spirits. The sweet scene wafted towards them. After breathing it for a few minutes they felt calmer and their heads felt clearer. They gradually became aware of a deep rhythmic sound, like an impossibly huge drum. Their hearts settled into the rhythm. Seeing they were ready, Crowfoot tossed some more into the fire and looked directly at Roman and Dean. He spoke to them in Peigan and the words burned in their minds, almost on the edge of understanding.

As the firelight illuminated the planes and angles of Punk's face, he translated the words for them. "Grandfather had a vision." The old man spoke without pausing, making Punk talk over his words. "He is talking about the white-man's village to the south of us, where they dig deep into the earth for the gold."

"Helena," Roman said.

Nodding, Punk continued, trying to keep up with the old man. "The spirits say the Beast is not dead but wounded and is very angry. They say it lays in wait there."

Roman looked grim while Dean grinned a death's head smile. They had already known they hadn't killed the Beast. It looked like they would get a chance to correct that.

"The spirits also says they brought the Legend Killer to that place and have trapped him deep under the city to use as bait to kill the demons, but this will not work as the Death Walker is gone from here."

"Death Walker?" Dean asked.

"You know him as the Saint of Killers," Punk told him as Crowfoot kept talking. Then he scrambled to keep up with the old man's words. "He says the Beast is hunting Legend Killer and that it will find him. But this is all the spirits say, so he doesn't know if Beast kills Legend Killer. He thinks it does." The fire popped loudly, making both Dean and Roman jump. Above them an eagle keened, but deep down they knew it was more than just an eagle. Their hearts beat in time with the steady throbbing of the unheard drum, the heartbeat of the land itself. "He also says when the Death Walker returns, he will visit much death on your people if Legend Killer dies." Throwing another handful of sweetgrass into the fire, Crowfoot went on and Punk translated. "Go to the white man's village, but you must go together. And I am to go with you," Punk said, glancing at Crowfoot for confirmation but the old man's gaze was fixed on the fire. "This is what the spirits say."

In the firelight, Dean's eyes widened. While Roman hadn't been there when the Saint of Killers had found out about Heaven's plot, Dean had experienced the immeasurable rage first hand. By the sounds of it, if Randy died because of the Beast, then both he and Roman would be conduits for that wrath and they would pay with their bodies and their souls. And while he couldn't care less about himself, Roman was too important for Dean to allow that. Somewhere close by a coyote yipped and Dean decided he had heard enough. He jumped to his feet and walked directly away from the fire, heading south. Confused Roman hurried after him. "Dean, wait!" he called. "What is it?" he asked as he caught up to his brother. Dean ignored him and kept walking.

"Dean!" Roman grabbed his arm and Dean spun around, the muzzle of his revolver under Roman's chin. "Whoa!" Roman said, swatting the gun away. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded, starting to get angry. He didn't need Dean to go off the deep end now.

Not looking at Roman, Dean stuffed his gun back into its holster. He had drawn it purely on reflex to being grabbed. Roman should have known better. "You don't need to be involved in this, Roman. You stay here and I'll take care of it."

"What _the fuck_ are you talking about?" Roman snarled at Dean. That made no sense whatsoever. Dean was going to explain his reasoning, as illogical as it was, until Roman understood what was going on in that head of his.

"It doesn't have to be both of us." Dean told him. "Only one of us needs to go."

"Dean, we're brothers! We watch each others backs!" Frustrated, Roman wanted to shake some sense into the lunatic. "What? You think you can protect me, but you won't let me protect you? Fuck that! You heard the old man, we're in this together."

"You weren't there! You don't know what it was like!" Dean burst out, trying and failing to make Roman understand.

"What was what like?" Roman asked. Studying Dean's pale face in the first glow of the dawn to the north-east, he softened his voice like he was calming a skittish horse. Dean tended to respond better to that than yelling. "Tell me," he coaxed. Now that he could recognize it, he could still faintly feel the drum. It reminded Roman that time was slipping by with every beat. Yet despite the sense of urgency, Roman would take as much time as Dean needed.

A bit calmer now, Dean said, "I can't… it was cold." Frustrated, he exhaled and shifted his balance. Seeing Roman wasn't getting it but waiting patiently for him, he tried again, searching for the words to describe the indescribable. The image of Hell frozen by that hate had been forever branded in his mind. Hate wasn't supposed to freeze the fires of Hell, yet it had. Even Randy had been shaken by the Saint's cold hatred. He ran a hand down his face at the memories he had been subjected to when he killed Barrett. "It was cold, so deep I can still feel it in my bones. But that wasn't the worst part. It was his hate. I've never felt anything like it. It was like drowning in a frozen lake. And it hurt so much. Roman, I don't care what happens to me, but…" he trailed off.

Roman waited but that was all Dean was going to say, so he nodded. It was obvious Dean didn't want him to experience what the Saint had put Dean and Randy through. Dean was trying to protect him in his own way. God, he loved Dean, even as insane as he was. But what Dean should have remembered was Roman would _never_ willingly abandon his brothers to face danger alone. "Then we save Orton before the Beast can get to him." he said, making it sound simple. "We do that; the Saint won't go on a rampage."

With a glimmer of hope, Dean asked, "How? You heard the old man. There are miles of mine tunnels below Helena. We don't even know where to start."

Even though the thought of being trapped underground again made him break out into a cold sweat, Roman gave him the 'are you kidding me?' look. He reached out and pulled Dean to him. "We'll find Seth. That son of a bitch will know exactly where Orton is." Hearing Dean's indrawn breath, Roman pressed their foreheads together as he finished. "And we save them both."

Hearing Roman say it, Dean believed it. He smiled.

"And I'm going with you." John told them from a few steps away. He was holding the reins of his bay mare and looking like a gentle breeze would blow him over.

Both Dean and Roman jumped in surprise. "Son of a bitch!" Dean said, clutching his gun. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you fucker!" Once again he put his revolver away. If this kept up, someone was going to get shot.

"John?" Roman asked, looking at the US Marshal warily. "How are you doing?"

John was very pale. There were dark circles under his eyes and he had aged several years in the last few days. He shrugged. "Crowfoot is as good as advertised," he said lightly. He was not going to talk about what he gone through a few hours earlier. And he completely understood why Randy had looked at him with pity. Having part your soul eaten by a wendigo was something that would have him waking up at night screaming for the rest of his life. He felt less than he did before, he felt diminished, like something was missing from deep inside of him. The emptiness was horrifying. He wondered if he would ever learn to live with it. There was no getting used to it.

"So you're fine now?" Roman asked, still eyeing him with some suspicion. "Nexus isn't going to possess you anymore?"

"No," John said flatly. "And if they try again, I'll kill myself first." He didn't care anymore what the scriptures said about suicide.

"Good thinking," Punk told him as he walked up to the group, leading his appaloosa. He turned to Roman and Dean. "Do you have a plan how to deal with the angel?" he asked. Roman was forced to admit that aside from beating the shit out of it, he didn't. Punk nodded like he expected no less. He didn't tell them that he and Crowfoot had already discussed it and they did have something in mind. It was very risky and he was sure that Roman and Dean would strenuously object to what he intended to do. But Punk felt it was warranted for what the Seth had done to his friend. "Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"We need horses." Roman said, indicating Dean and himself.

Smirking, Punk whistled and Roman's and Dean's horses come trotting up from where they had been patiently waiting. Dean smiled his first genuine smile in days as he grabbed the reins of his mustang. The horse wuffed into his hair as Dean rubbed the horse's neck. He turned to Roman. "Let's ride."

Grinning, Roman touched his fist to Dean's. As he swung up into the saddle, he looked back to where Crowfoot's campfire had been. He swallowed hard when he saw there was no trace of the old man, or the fire itself.

* * *

Below Helena, the mines ran long and deep. Some of the tunnels ran directly under the city and allowed for the miners to pass under the entire city without once seeing the sun. All had been dug to find the precious yellow ore. Except for one special tunnel deep beneath the city had been created with a different purpose in mind.

As he returned to consciousness, Randy had the impression a long time had passed. He woke up sitting with his back to a rough wall of solid rock. They had taken his shirt and jacket so the cold seeped right into him. He blinked his eyes in the bright flickering light and the smell of burning pitch.

Torches.

He felt the presence of demons nearby and a shot of adrenaline had him attempting to scramble to his feet. But as soon as he moved he felt the heavy weight of thick iron shackles on his wrists and ankles. The chain binding his ankles was about two feet long and made of solid iron. The shackles on his wrists were fastened lengths of chain anchored to the wall by large bolts sunk deep in the stone behind him. His stomach sank but he quickly realized he wasn't going to escape by losing his head. Instead he took his time looking around and rose to his feet. He was in a windowless room of rock, probably in a mine shaft or some sort of tunnel which explained the torches. The small chamber he was in was bare. He heard a sound and turned around, taking all his willpower not to react to Hunter and a satisfied looking Seth Rollins standing and watching him from the doorway. The open door was made of thick oak reinforced with iron. Behind them were two similar-looking demons, their unblinking eyes were pinned on Randy. Standing next to them was a bald brute holding a pair of revolvers pointed at Randy. Behind _them_ were two smaller men holding the torches. Randy glared but held himself still. He forced himself to be patient. He needed the odds to be more in his favor. He tilted his head back slightly and waited.

Hunter broke into a smile of pride as he watched Randy calmly assess his situation. The boy had definitely grown up. He let his eyes travel over Randy's body, admiring the changes. The last time he had seen Randy, the Legend Killer still carried the look of youth, still soft around the edges. But now Randy had fully matured. He was all hard muscle with the cold dead-eyed stare of a natural-born killer. The burns across his shoulders absorbed light like the Abyss in the flickering torchlight as he turned to face them, chains on his wrists clinking. Hunter had expected Randy to test the manacles but instead he stood tall and waited. Yes, Randy had learned patience. "Hello, Randy," he said.

"Hunter," Randy acknowledged, ignoring the others.

"Been a long time," Hunter said, savoring this moment. He had waited years for Randy to come back under his control. Between Seth and now Randy, his day was certainly looking up.

"Not long enough," Randy growled. As he looked at Hunter, Randy noticed the judge looked much older. His short hair was shot with gray and age lines had worn deep into his face. He'd always had a hard time reading Hunter's mind, the man had a great poker-face. But with the demons present, Randy had sinking feeling of what was coming. He didn't allow any of his thoughts to show in his voice or on his face. He wouldn't give Hunter that satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

The demons moved towards him, inhaling deeply. "Benoit," one of them said, licking its lips as it stared at Randy. "I can smell it." The demons moved closer, their gaze fixed on Randy's shoulders. Seeing the naked hunger in their gaze, Randy unconsciously took a step back, the iron shackles shortened his step considerably and his back fetched up against the cold wall. Scowling with annoyance, Hunter pushed them back, ignoring the growls of displeasure as he did.

"I hope you're comfortable. We had this room made especially for you." Hunter gestured widely at the empty space.

Randy didn't reply. He just stood there with his eyes narrowed.

"I see you've finally learned patience," Hunter observed with approval. He come a step nearer but not within Randy's reach. Behind Hunter, Seth smirked but didn't say anything.

"Okay Hunter, you finally caught me. Let's get it over with," Randy said as if he were bored with the situation.

"Get what over with?" Hunter asked knowing exactly what Randy was talking about but couldn't resist toying with him. A calm, confident Randy was something to behold and Hunter almost regretted what he was going to do to the younger man.

"Killing me," Randy said. "It's what you want, isn't it?" He hoped that Hunter hated him enough to actually do it, but he wasn't optimistic. Hunter was too cold and calculating. But Randy thought that maybe he could provoke Hunter into losing his cool. He was good at that. "I killed Ric and Shawn. According to the law, I should hang," he challenged. He was ready. Death was infinitely preferable to being handed over to be tortured by demons again. There might not be any afterlife for him, but at least he could face death like a man.

But to Randy's disappointment, Hunter didn't fall for it. "Randy, you know better than to try to outsmart me. I'm not going to kill you. You're far too important." Behind him Seth scoffed. Hunter ignored him, and heaved a huge, fake sigh of regret. "But I can't have you running around free either. No, you're going to stay right here where we can keep an eye on you." He stepped even closer and Randy could clearly see the deep lines around Hunter's eyes. He didn't move even when Hunter finished his sentence. "Forever."

"Get used to those chains, Randal, because you'll wear them the rest of your life." Seth smirked, but Hunter gestured for his to be quiet. Seth pouted but did as he was told.

Randy's gaze flicked to the demons in the tunnel outside the heavy door and back to Hunter. Hunter smirked cheerfully. "You have no idea how much having you here will help me out. You see, now I can make deals with our demon friends," he nodded towards the two demons. "For the longest time I've had to rely on you or one the others for the Saint to kill them before they can kill too many people and attract attention, like from the Pinkertons. And now, even though the Saint has abandoned you, you're still very useful to me. Did you know what those marks Benoit put on your shoulders are? Did you know they drive demons absolutely crazy? Let's take the Ascension here, for example. Those marks are so attractive to demons that they'll do anything I ask for the chance to, how can I put this delicately? Oh hell, I'll just say it: the chance to _fuck_ you. Of course they know better than to get carried away and kill you, but anything up to that is fine. And once we put word out that the Saint is no longer protecting you? They'll be lining up to have a chance at you. You've made damned sure the demons know about you, and you better believe they'll want their turn."

If possible, Randy glared even harder but there was no other reaction. Hunter's words didn't bother him too much because he already planned what he was going to do as soon as he was alone. But once again Hunter read his mind. "Come on, Randy, how stupid do you think we are? We've already found your little toy." He held up the skinning knife that Randy had kept hidden in top of his boot. Seeing that, Randy felt sick. "You're not getting out of this," Hunter chided, then dropped the fake friendly air. He leaned towards Randy and growled. "I've wasted too many years and friends hunting you down. You're right; I do want you to pay for Ric and Shawn. Dave too. If demons are willing to work with me in order to get a chance at that body of yours, then that's how you'll pay. I know you have experience with this sort of thing already." Seeing Randy's white hot glare, Hunter stepped back just as Randy lunged. The heavy chains around his wrists brought him up just short of reaching Hunter. Hunter smiled widely. "Hey, look on the bright side. By the time their done with you, you'll have plenty of motivation to kill them if the Saint ever does come back."

With that, he stepped back out of the door. Randy kept pulling against the chains for all he was worth but they were forged too strong. He glared at Hunter as the door swung shut and he heard a heavy oak crossbeam slide into place with a terrible finality. As Hunter, Seth and the Ascension moved away back down the tunnel, the light from the torches faded so even the meager light that slipped under the door faded to pitch black. Desperate, he turned and grabbed the chains that held him to the wall and pulled, testing its strength against his own. He pulled harder, channeling his rage and terror into his muscles. Sweat dripped down his body, his muscles trembled with the effort and blood welled between his fingers but the chains refused to break. For long minutes he pulled until eventually his body gave out. Exhausted, he stopped pulling and sank to his hands and knees, panting. His sides were slick with sweat. Then he thought about Hunter's threat and he wrapped his bloody fingers around the chains and pulled again, and again, and again.

The chains refused to break.

Gasping for breath, Randy felt his way back to the wall and placed his back against it. Shivering, he wrapped his manacled wrists around his legs and glared at the darkness. The future spread out in front of him as dark as the room he was trapped in. For the first time since he was held down and forced to watch his two friends be tortured to death, he felt utterly helpless. But his rage burned hot at one being in particular.

_Old man, why have you abandoned me again?_

* * *

Far above where Randy was trapped in his own personal nightmare, Hunter was surveying his new office with a pang of grief. It used to been Shawn's. The office was well lit with sunlight, with the glass window panes freshly installed. There was a lingering in the air of something that reminded him of his friend and he felt a fresh surge of hatred for Randy for taking away his truest friend. Only the thought of Randy in chains, alone in the dark and waiting in anticipation of demons, kept Hunter from throwing things across the room. Mentally torturing Randy was as much revenge as he could allow himself to take. He was too pivotal to Hunter's plans to physically incapacitate.

The soon-to-be sheriff had his own office across the street in the jailhouse. But he had no interest in investigating such mundane things. Instead he followed Hunter into his office, which meant Jamie and Joey were also there. Seth had healed them earlier and that only made them worship him even more, which he felt was completely deserved. Ryback had been left behind to guard the entrance to the long tunnel that led to Randy's cell.

It was still early in the day but Hunter was already tired. The road from Virginia City had been long and bumpy and he wasn't young anymore. He had been juggling the demands of Heaven and dealing with escaping demons from Hell for a long time, and it was starting to wear on him. He wondered how much longer he could manage it. He poured himself a large glass of whiskey from Shawn's well-stocked cabinet and carried it to the oak desk, sitting down with a sigh. Seth, looking unbearably smug, perched on the edge of his desk. And as irritating Seth was, he had done in one day what Shawn and Hunter working together for years had failed to do. Hunter tried not to scowl at Seth's self-satisfaction. No matter how it had been done, they had finally contained Orton. As long as Randy was under Hunter's control, he could make deals with the remaining demons. He wasn't exaggerating when he told Randy the demons would do anything Hunter asked to get at the Legend Killer. Privately he knew it was, at best, a temporary measure to control the demons. But until a better solution presented itself, using Randy as a bribe was Hunter's only means to ensure the local human population wasn't slaughtered by bored and/or hungry demons.

"What's our next move boss?" Jamie wanted to know. Joey stood near the window and kept glancing out, looking for possible threats.

"We just have to take care of Ambrose and Reigns," Hunter told them. They were _so close_ to achieving their ultimate goal. _Why_ hadn't Seth killed Ambrose and Reigns when he had the opportunity? Hunter was annoyed but upsetting Seth right now would be counterproductive. He needed Seth to settle down and mature.

"Are we going to hunt them down?" Jamie asked. His eyes were bright with excitement at the prospect. Both Reigns and Ambrose had been self-confident to the point of arrogance as deputy US Marshals. Seeing them get theirs was something Jamie was looking forward to.

"No, they'll be on their way to us. We need to prepare for them." Hunter had to make plans, which is why he wanted some time alone. He needed to think. And Seth and the others were distracting.

"They're nothing. I'll take care of them," Seth promised them.

They beamed at his attention and Hunter couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You should have taken care of them already," he said bluntly, trying to be patient with the angel. Shawn had been similar in his self-centered view when Hunter had first met him. But gradually after years of working alongside Hunter, Shawn had grown out of it. The trouble was Hunter didn't have the time or the inclination to deal with Seth. "Are you sure your seals will keep the demons out?" As they had exited the tunnel, Seth had sealed the entrance with his power.

The angel scowled, annoyed at being questioned. "Yes. No demon can enter the tunnel unless I undo them."

"Good, we wouldn't want Mr. Orton to have unauthorized visits." Hunter looked satisfied at the thought. Demons _would_ get to visit Orton as a reward when they had proved cooperative to Hunter's goals. To be strictly honest, he may have underplayed Randy's ability to fight back against the demons. They wouldn't be strolling in to rape a helpless victim like he let them think. No, they would be entering a viper's pit.

And hopefully, a viper armed with a Colt Walker.

And by keeping Randy isolated, the other demons wouldn't know their fate until they walked through the thick wooden door. Hunter was rather proud of himself.

Looking solemn, Jamie exchanged glances with Joey, who nodded in support of what Jamie was about to say. "Boss, I gotta say, while we're not the biggest fans of Orton, what you're doing to him? That's pretty fucked up."

Joey nodded in agreement. Both of them stiffened and stepped back when Hunter glared at them.

"He deserves everything he has coming," Hunter growled. It was important to maintain the illusion that revenge was all he cared about. "Why don't you take Seth over to the jail? He can get settled in and you can start teaching him his new duties."

It really wasn't a suggestion but Joey and Jamie knew they were dismissed. They waited for Seth who pouted but didn't argue. With a sigh, he stood up and gestured for Jamie and Joey to precede him. With their hands on their guns, they left the room with exaggerated care, looking for any sign of a threat.

Finally getting some peace, Hunter sat back in his chair. He needed to send a telegram to Vince soon, updating him on the situation. Cena had been a bust. He had known Cena would try to catch Orton rather than kill him. Cena wasn't a killer. Vince had informed Hunter that Cena was proud and predictable that way. Hunter had hoped to get him acclimated to the idea of angels and demons and eventually use Cena as a vessel for another angel to work with him and Shawn. Then, after the Saint of Killers situation was sorted out, he had planned to send angel Cena back out east where it could guide Vince himself. Vince was getting on in years and the goal of getting into Heaven was becoming a priority in the old man's mind. But Cena had stupidly gotten himself infected by the Nexus, ensuring no angel would ever consider possessing him. But Hunter always had a backup plan and Seth was a fine replacement, even better in some ways than Cena. Seth had been able to get close to the Saint's men and capture Orton. For that, Hunter was willing to put up with a lot from the arrogant angel.

And at some point, Hunter needed to write a letter to his wife Stephanie. He missed her and their daughters very much. They had moved back out east when the demons had started showing up. Taking another sip of whiskey, he leaned his head back against the high back of the chair and closed his eyes. First and foremost, Reigns and Ambrose would be on their way if he calculated everything right. He just had to ensure those two died, and then finally, _finally_ he would achieve his goals. Heaven would be satisfied that it could control the Saint, and Hunter would have a way to make sure demons would be disposed of with minimal causalities. Of course Randy's life would be a living horror, but that would just be icing on the cake as far as Hunter was concerned.

He was still annoyed about Owens, Bálor and Itami. He had high hopes for them, and for whatever reason they had betrayed him. So he had sent the Ascension to kill or capture those three with the promise of getting the first chance at Randy if they were successful. It was nice to have something the demons wanted and were willing to do anything to get. And he was sure Randy would be able handle them with maybe some difficulty. He didn't want to make Randy's life _too_ easy.

He opened his eyes at a brief knock on his door and the last person in the world Hunter wanted to see walked in. He put his poker face back on even as his stomach sank.

"Good afternoon, Judge Hunter. My name is Paul Heyman, and I am the advocate for the Beast." the lawyer started but Hunter waved for him to get on with it. Hunter wondered not for the first or even the fifth time how this lowlife lawyer had so much influence over the Beast. But he didn't ask. There were things even he couldn't stand to know.

"We have learned you have taken the outlaw Randy Orton into custody," Heyman announced his self-satisfied smirk was unbearable. "The Beast demands to know where you are holding him."

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the way the world ends  
> This is the way the world ends  
> Not with a bang but a whimper.  
> ~ T.S. Eliot

 As always, a huge thank you to Kiss316 for her feedback. She is awesome, of course!

Thank you for all the kudos!

 

**Legend Killer Chapter 21**

Warning: Graphic Violence, implied non-consensual sex and swearing.

 

“ _We have learned the outlaw Randy Orton is in your custody,” Heyman announced, his self-satisfied smirk was unbearable. “The Beast demands to know where you are holding him.”_

 

How _the hell_ did Heyman find out so fast? Someone had talked, Hunter realized in a flash of fury. Someone was going to pay as soon as Hunter found out who had spilled the beans. But as inconvenient as that was, it was water under the bridge now. Until then, he had to deal with Paul Heyman, the most dangerous, cunning, and slimy lawyer he knew and that was _before_ Heyman started representing the Beast. Now Heyman was (arguably) the most dangerous man on the planet.

 

Stalling for time, Hunter didn’t immediately try to confirm or deny Heyman's accusation. Instead he took a sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving Heyman’s while his mind worked feverishly. He sat up straighter and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk. “Mr. Heyman, yes Orton is in _my_ custody and by proxy, Heaven’s. The Beast is not going to go near him,” he told the lawyer. He kept his voice firm.

 

“Unless the Beast does something for you,” Heyman finished, looking sly. Hunter tried to contain his surprise but Heyman wasn't fooled. “Oh yes, we know how this works, Judge Hunter. The Beast carries out some task for you and as a reward, the Beast will have its turn at Orton. I must say Judge Hunter, that is _very_ practical arrangement. Everyone profits except Orton, of course. Or maybe Orton does profit from it, if you know what I mean.” He grinned, showing all his teeth. “But who am I to judge how you deal with Randy Orton? One would get the feeling you personally don't like him, which is understandable. Your star protégé, turning outlaw and killing a lot of people. And despite your best efforts, you haven't been able to bring him to justice, until now. He really made you look foolish all these years.”

 

He didn’t have the time or patience to let Heyman get rolling on a speech while getting in his little digs. Hunter interrupted Heyman without raising his voice. “Mr. Heyman, both you and I know if the Beast goes near Orton, there is a good chance it will get carried away and kill him. I can't let that happen. Heaven needs Orton alive to control the Saint of Killers. And let’s not kid ourselves. We both know Randy Orton is more than a match for other demons and can fight them off, even if the Saint doesn’t come back. But not even Randy can take on the Beast one on one, especially since I have to keep him chained hand and foot. So if the Beast has an issue with the situation, it can take it up with Heaven. There is a representative here is town now. I've just appointed him sheriff.”

 

Heyman waved aside Hunter's concern. “Of course the Beast understands Orton has to stay alive. However, I noticed that _you_ noticed that Heaven didn't stipulate what _quality_ of life he needs to have. Or what mental condition he needs to be in. And you, you sly devil, take every advantage you can get. Better to stick with the letter of the law, rather than the spirit, wouldn't you say? But I am here to make a deal.” Seeing Hunter's skeptical look, Heyman raised his hand. “Hear me out. There are several other pesky demons out there and despite the rather tempting reward Orton would be for them, I doubt if word got out that he isn't as helpless as you made him out to be, they would be too interested in having a go at Randy. So rather than hoping the Saint comes back, I propose the Beast works for you. The Beast can easily kill the other demons, even new ones coming up from Hell. In return, the Beast gets exclusive access to Orton.”

 

“And if the Saint comes back?” Hunter asked, desperately trying to keep his voice neutral.

 

“Then I am out a client,” Heyman shrugged, not sounding terribly upset.

 

On the surface that sounded _very_ appealing. If the Saint didn't come back, Hunter still had to deal with the demons here on earth. Having the Beast kill them would be a huge help in keeping the human carnage to a minimum, and it was only at the cost of Randy's mind and body. But Hunter was nobody's fool. He knew Heyman's type too well. There was always something more to the deal than Heyman was letting on. “What do you get out of it?” Hunter wanted to know.

 

“Only knowing that the Beast, my client, is happy with my services,” Heyman assured Hunter, who believed him as far he could throw him. But with the Beast at Heyman's beck and call, Hunter had to treat Heyman with the utmost caution. If he didn't handle this perfectly, a lot of people including himself were going to die.

 

“I will consider your offer, Mr. Heyman,” Hunter said, the picture of calm while his thoughts raced. As much as he hated Randy and personally wanted the younger man to suffer, he needed Randy alive. If it were anyone else, Hunter would have agreed to Heyman's demands. But not Orton. He needed more time, time for the Saint to return. Then, the beginnings of a plan sprouted in his mind. “But it’s not just demons I need dead. Any future recruits the Saint might try to bring in will have to die too.”

 

Smirking, Heyman knew the Beast would love that part of the deal. He didn't even have to pretend to think about it. “Of course,” he said.

 

But Hunter wasn't done yet. If the Beast was willing to work to get Orton, then Hunter was going to put it to _work_. “And Ambrose and Reigns are on their way here. They cannot be allowed to free Orton. If the Beast kills them, I will consider letting it have access to Orton.” Hopefully the two of them could kill the Beast.

 

Seeing Hunter was willing to play ball, Heyman smiled. The agreement was set, just the details needed to be ironed out. “Killing Ambrose and Reigns will only be a bonus as far as the Beast is concerned. So you are agreeable to this arrangement?” he asked.

 

“Maybe,” Hunter hedged. “What assurances do I have the Beast won't kill Orton? I've gone through a lot of trouble to get Randy under my control. I need to know no matter what else the Beast does, that Randy will still be alive when the Beast is done with him,” Hunter said. “Because even though I have him locked up and in chains, he won’t just lay down for the Beast. He will fight the Beast until he dies.”

 

“And of course Orton will fight. That just makes it sweeter for the Beast. It loves to conquer the strong. But the Beast is _smart_ , Judge. It knows what Orton will try to do. Rest assured, the Beast wants Orton alive for a long, long time.” Seeing the lawyer watching him, Hunter forced himself to smile grimly at what Heyman was insinuating. As much as he wanted Randy to pay for Ric, Shawn and Dave, he wasn’t sure even Randy deserved the Beast. “Oh, believe me the Beast doesn't want Orton dead, Judge. Do you want to know why? What do you really know about those marks Benoit put on Orton?”

 

Hunter raised his eyebrows. Seth had told him the marks would drive demons crazy with lust. Had he been wrong?

 

Smirking, Heyman explained. “They do drive demons wild, but Benoit was truly a mastermind. You see, those marks aren't just a way to satisfy demons sexually. When activated the right way, a demon will be able to gain power. The Beast knows as long as Orton is alive, it will have the means to become even more powerful.”

 

Hunter knew right then the Beast must _never_ be allowed near Orton. He could see by the satisfied look in Heyman's eyes that Hunter had gotten the message.

 

“What about your new angel friend?” Heyman wanted to know. “Will it try to stop the Beast when goes to collect its reward? The Beast was not happy about the angel's interference when it was about to finish off Ambrose and Reigns.”

 

His first instinct was to deny it, but then Hunter thought about Seth’s behavior. The arrogant angel just might object to the Beast having access to Orton on the grounds the Beast might go too far and kill him. Which was a very valid concern. “He’s young and a bit excitable. He thought the Beast was going to kill Orton, which was against his orders,” Hunter admitted. “He’ll settle down. Just give him some time. But, this is contingent as long as Orton remains alive. If the Beast kills Orton, I can't be sure what he'll do.”

 

“Or what Heaven will do,” Heyman said, as if he was reading Hunter's mind.

 

“Mr. Heyman, Heaven _needs_ him alive. If Orton dies, we lose our only real hold over the Saint of Killers. Heaven's mandate takes precedence over what we want.” And if Orton died while in Hunter's custody, Hunter knew his life was going to be extremely short.

 

“I understand. But this is what _the Beast_ wants. Are _you_ going to say _no_ to the Beast?” Hunter didn't say anything. Heyman nodded. “Then do we have a deal? The Beast works for you, killing the other demons and the Saint's recruits, in exchange for Orton.”

 

“If the Beast kills Ambrose and Reigns, then I'll consider it,” Hunter said. He hoped the Saint would turn up soon, for everyone’s sake.

 

“Very well. Oh, and after the Beast kills Ambrose and Reigns, it is going to come to this very office we are in, stand in this very spot I am standing and ask you where Orton is being held. You might want to consider your answer very carefully. Good day, Judge Hunter.” Hunter understood the threat clearly: 'Tell the Beast where Randy was being held, or get torn apart.' Giving Hunter a measuring look, Heyman turned and left. Hunter leaned back in his chair and let out an explosive breath, unable to suppress a shudder. He downed the whiskey and curled his hands into fists. Fuck Heyman and the Beast. He wished Randy had obliged him just a little and killed the Beast before being captured by Seth. And if things went wrong and the Saint didn’t come back, Randy would be regretting that even more than Hunter very soon. He prayed Seth could repair the damage Randy would suffer at the hands of the Beast.

 

Outside the courthouse, Heyman straightened his jacket and looked around. He saw a local acquaintance he kept on retainer lurking nearby, looking like he wanted to talk to Heyman. Curtis Axel was about as average a person as you could find. Nothing about the man stood out, which was why he was so useful to Heyman. No one ever noticed him. With a jerk of his head, Heyman indicated for Axel to walk with him as he strolled back down the gulch to his office. He didn't look at Axel as the man fell into step beside him. “What is it, Mr. Axel? My time is extremely valuable.”

 

“My buddy Ryback, you know, the one Hunter hired for muscle? He knows where they are holding Orton,” Axel said. Their long association had taught him Heyman was only interested in results. And if those results were to his liking, Heyman would pay extremely well.

 

Of course they were very much to Heyman's liking. Heyman smiled again, more genuinely this time and reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills. Despite being a shyster of the highest order, he always rewarded those who served him well. “Thank you very much, Mr. Axel. As always, it was nice doing business with you. And you may want to tell your buddy Ryback to be sure to be elsewhere when the Beast comes for Orton.” After getting the location from Axel, he walked away, knowing the Beast would be very pleased.

 

Axel's eyes were wide. The amount of money Heyman handed him was more than enough for both him and Ryback to get out of the area and live _very_ well for quite a while. Axel grinned to himself and hurried off to tell Ryback.

~~~~~~~~~

On the mountain above the west side of Helena, three riders sat on their horses and examined the scene below. The town was going about its day. The mines were open and the ore grinders were running at full capacity. People were out and about, going about their daily routines. It looked completely normal.

 

“So what’s the plan?” John asked. His mare shook her head as she chewed the bit. They had ridden hard but steadily to get back to Helena. Both horses and riders were tired but not exhausted. Punk had gone ahead to scout Seth's location and find out who might be with him. At John’s question, Dean and Roman looked at each other.

 

“We go in and beat the shit out of Seth until he tells us where Orton is,” Dean said promptly. Roman chuckled.

 

John shook his head. “The worst part is I think you're serious.”

 

“What?” Dean demanded. “Seth is the one for making plans, Roman and I follow his lead. And when he’s not around we just hit it until it breaks. It worked in the past.”

 

“Seth is now as strong as you are, and he has powers. ” John reminded them. “He also has allies.”

 

“It doesn't matter,” Dean said as his horse shifted underneath him, pawing the ground and pulling on the reins as it tried to reach down to the grass. Dean let it grab a mouthful before pulling its head back up. “But we can’t let him put us to sleep again.”

 

“What I can't figure out is why he didn't just kill us,” Roman said as he shifted restlessly in the saddle. He was feeling a sense of urgency, like time was running out. “It doesn't make sense.”

 

Brushing the shallow cut on his neck with his fingertips, Dean pondered that as well.

 

“He's an angel. Aren't they're supposed to be good?” John asked, but didn't sound quite convinced. He had met Shawn Michaels and some of the things the mayor had admitted to being part of had been pretty gray in John's sense of morality.

 

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. His opinion of angels, and Seth were pretty clear. “There's Punk,” he said, drawing their attention to the figure cantering up the mountain slope in their direction.

 

Punk reined his appaloosa to a stop. “I found Rollins. He's in the jailhouse with two little guys,” he reported.

 

“The two I shot?” Dean asked, disappointed. He had hoped they would be out of commission for a while.

 

“They didn't look injured.” Punk shrugged.

 

“He probably healed them,” Roman said. “But there was no one else?” His black horse kicked at a fly and swished its tail impatiently.

 

“No, Hunter is in the courthouse. The jail is locked. It won't be easy to get catch Rollins by surprise.”

 

“Fine, let’s go,” Dean turned his horse, but John held up a hand.

 

“Do you have a plan?” he asked again. Seeing Dean open his mouth, he interrupted, “Besides hitting Seth until he breaks, I mean.”

 

Roman and Dean looked at each other again. John shook his head. “Okay, here's what we're going to do.”

 

~~~~~~

 

Down in the jailhouse, Seth was not impressed with his new duties. Jamie was explaining the ins and outs of human law and Joey would occasionally nod in support. Bored, Seth listened halfheartedly. He wanted to go out and look around the town. He wanted the crowds of people to adore him, as was his due. He wanted to _gloat_. He had personally captured Randy Orton and injured the Beast. Shawn Michaels and Hunter working together for years couldn't accomplish that. Instead he was stuck inside this stupid building, listening to these stupid humans drone on and on. Okay, one stupid human, but still…

 

They all looked up when someone knocked on the door. Both Jamie and Joey put their hands on their sidearm.

 

“Get that,” Seth directed them, not getting up from his chair. His feet were crossed up on the desktop in a show of complete disdain. Maybe it was someone interesting. Probably not.

 

Jamie approached the door with exaggerated caution. “Identify yourself,” he called out. At his desk, Seth rolled his eyes.

 

“US Marshal John Cena,” was the muffled reply.

 

That got their attention and Seth even sat up straight. “What do we do?” Jamie asked. “He has authority here.”

 

“Let him in!” Seth ordered impatiently. He wasn't afraid of Cena. A mere human couldn't hurt him. But the last time he saw Cena, the man was lying in an unconscious heap after being attacked by Jamie and Joey when they kidnapped the human Seth inhabited. How had John made it back? The angel was curious.

 

Drawing his gun and nodding at Joey, Jamie unlocked and opened the door. He stuck his gun directly into John’s face, who immediately raised his arms away from his sides. “What the hell?” John asked, annoyed. “That's a mighty peculiar way to greet a fellow law-enforcement officer,” he observed. “Why don't you put the gun down so we can talk like civilized folk?”

 

“Yeah, Joey,” Seth said, ignoring Jamie's muttered _'I'm Jamie.'_ He stood up and greeted John. “So you made it back from the Nations. I must have just missed you.” Seth sneered at him. He squinted his eyes. “You look like a rat has been chewing on you,” he said.

 

Only John understood exactly was Seth was talking about. He flushed but didn't acknowledge Seth's comment. Instead, he gave a meaningful look at Jamie, who finally holstered his gun. Satisfied, John walked confidently through the door and sat down in the chair on the other side of Seth’s desk. He ignored Jamie and Joey and gave Seth a penetrating stare.

 

That annoyed Seth just the slightest bit. “What?” he asked defensively.

 

“Do you have any idea what you're doing?” John asked back instead of answering.

 

“Of course I do,” Seth replied, rolling his eyes. “I always have a plan.”

 

“Then explain it to me, because right now? I’m not seeing how this is going to end well for anyone.” John said. Jamie and Joey were listening intently as well.

 

He was going to get the chance to gloat after all! Seth shook his head, his eyes bright with suppressed glee. “John, John, John,” he drawled. “Your human mind can’t grasp the elegance and complexity of the plans of the higher Authority.”

 

“Try me,” John gritted out. He was beginning to think Dean's approach might have been the better one.

 

“Okay fine. I’ll keep the words so simple even Jamie over there can understand.” Seth didn’t care about Jamie’s hurt look at his callous words. “As you know, there is a new avatar of Death, the so-called Saint of Killers. He was anointed by the original Angel of Death, who melted his sword into two guns and absconded from Hell. Why he did this, no one knows.”

 

“Maybe he was tired of being the Angel of Death and wanted to do something else?” Jamie offered.

 

Giving him a withering look, Seth went on. “But the issue is not the Angel of Death left his post, or even why he did. The issue is there were rules he had to follow. _Very important rules._ Are you following me?” Seeing John nod, Seth frowned at what he was going to say next. It wasn’t common knowledge, even among the angels. “Anyway, when he passed his sword to this new guy, he did not bind him to the rules that bound the previous one. That makes him incredibly dangerous. Are you keeping up?” he asked.

 

John nodded. Jamie and Joey were listening intently, not paying attention to anything else. This was all news to them.

 

“What rules?” John asked intrigued.

 

“Never mind,” Seth said, a warning in his voice. There were somethings that humans didn’t need to know.

 

“So you don’t know?” John said, trying to goad Seth. It wasn’t exactly subtle but the angel was still new to the human realm and didn’t understand nuances as much as it thought. And it worked.

 

“Of course I know!” Seth said indignantly. “The former Angel of Death answered to the Creator! It had to follow the Creator’s directives, and only His! But this new one, he is not bound by anything and answers to no one! Imagine Death now has _no limits_. Now do you understand?”

 

In that instant John did understand what Seth wasn’t saying. Why Heaven was so desperate to gain control over the Saint of Killers. The Saint had the power to _kill the Creator_ if he wanted to and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The implications were staggering. “Holy fuck,” he breathed. “I had no idea.” That was true. Never in a million years would he have guessed the stakes were the highest possible in this game.

 

“Of course you didn't!” Seth said scornfully. “But yeah, so now that you know why I’m here on earth,” Seth told him. “You seem like a sensible human and you know what’s at stake. You understand why we need to control the Saint. And that means keeping Randy Orton in our custody.”

 

“But why Orton? The Saint has other guys. What is so special about him?” That was something John still didn't understand. Randy was a remorseless killer, but so was Reigns and Ambrose. What made the Saint so protective of Randy Orton?

 

Impatient, Seth gave him a look. “Haven’t you been paying attention? The Saint of Killers _is his father._ ”

 

_Holy shit_

 

Oh god. Now it all made sense. John remembered the look of terrible grief as the Saint went to confront the Beast on the dusty street only a few short days ago. The Saint’s reluctance to let Randy continue to kill demons, to continue to sacrifice his soul. The cold rage when the spirit learned of Heaven’s plot involving Randy. John’s mouth went dry. If the Beast got to Randy before they did…

 

_His son_

 

“Where is Orton?” he demanded, feeling sick. They needed to find Randy, fast!

 

“Really? You think I'm going to tell you?” Seth asked sarcastically, leaning back indolently in his chair.

 

“Listen, you jackass, the Beast is going find and kill him. If that happens, we are all going to die! Even you! You yourself said Death now has no limits. If his son dies while in your custody, who do you think he's going to go after?” John asked, unable to understand Seth's nonchalance. He stood up abruptly, his chair scudding backwards across the floor. “Tell me where he is!”

 

“Relax,” Seth said, completely unperturbed by John’s agitation. “He’s safe and in a place no one can find him.”

 

“You’re wrong. I don’t know exactly how, but the Beast will find him!” John wanted to tear his hair out at the the sheer arrogance of the angel. By now Jamie and Joey were concerned, shifting their gaze between Seth and John.

 

Seth was smirking, like he knew something John didn’t. “Look, even if the Beast does find out his location, my seals will prevent it from getting at him. _Orton is fine_.”

 

“Not for long,” John argued. “The old shaman Crowfoot warned us. How many times do I have to spell it out for you? If the Beast finds Orton, it will kill him. And when it does, We. Will. All. Die.”

 

“You believe a doddering old heathen over me?” Seth was incredulous.

 

“That heathen is far wiser than you could ever be,” Punk said from the doorway. Roman and Dean were right there with him. Jamie and Joey had been so caught up in the argument between Cena and Seth that they were slow to draw their guns. Dean and Roman were on them in a heartbeat. Seth was rising from his chair when Punk, with a length of coiled rope in his hands, threw the looped end at him. The rope settled over Seth’s head and down past his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides. Seth, annoyed, grabbed the rope and pulled. His strength easily overcame Punk's, but John grabbed the rope as well and their combined strength was enough to slow Seth down a little.

 

Off to the side, Dean punched Jamie in the stomach, then the face. He didn't use his full strength but it was still enough to stun the small man. Roman hadn't bothered with the stomach, only punching Joey in the face. The results were the same. With the two smaller men down for the count, they switched places with John. When Dean and Roman taking the first rope, Punk grabbed a second rope and repeated the previous move. Now Seth had two ropes around him, with Roman and Dean each holding one. They maneuvered themselves until the struggling Seth was held firmly between the two of them.

 

Meanwhile, John had disarmed the slowly recovering Jamie and Joey, dragging their bodies to a nearby cell and locking them in. He then made sure the door to the jail was shut and locked, ensuring no one would interrupt their talk with Seth.

 

“Where is Orton?” Roman asked, keeping the rope taunt.

 

“Fuck you!” Seth yelled at them. He struggled, but he wasn’t a match for both Roman and Dean.

 

“Listen you self-entitled prick, if Orton dies the Saint will go insane and kill us all! Is that what you want? Because that is what is going to happen!” Dean shouted at Seth.

 

“He’s safe! Don’t worry,” Seth tried to reason with them, until he could figure a way out of this. “Nothing is going to get at Orton while my seals are in place. Why can’t you understand that?”

 

“Can the Beast get through your seals?” Punk asked.

 

Seth scowled at him. “No! Look, I know the Beast is stronger than I anticipated, but my seals are strong enough. Besides, the Beast doesn’t even know where Orton is. Now let me go!” He struggled against the ropes but Roman and Dean held firm.

 

“How many people know where he is? Are you sure none of them will talk?” John asked.

 

That brought Seth up short. He thought for a second. “Let’s see, there is me, Hunter, Jamie and Joey over there, Ryback and the Ascension.”

 

“Wait, the Ascension know where he is?” John interrupted, appalled.

 

Shrugging, Seth dismissed it. “Yes, but they won’t get access to him until they kill Itami and Bálor. That’s going to take a while.”

 

“What do you mean ‘get access’? You’d better start explaining, fast!” Roman told him.

 

“It’s Hunter’s idea to control the demons while the Saint is away. If they do a job for him, he’ll reward them with access to Orton,” Seth said. Punk closed his eyes and shook his head, muttering in his native language.

 

“What?” Roman asked, unable to believe what he had just heard.

 

Rolling his eyes, Seth said. “I healed him. The Ascension isn’t a match for him, even if he is chained up.”

 

“Oh this just keeps getting better and better,” Dean commented, looking pissed off.

 

Seth looked between the two of them. An idea formed but he had to play it perfectly for it to work. “Alright, to prove to you he’s fine, I’ll take you to him,” he offered.

 

“No tricks,” Roman warned, feeling like a bit of an idiot for wanting to trust Seth.

 

“No tricks,” Seth promised.

 

“And no bullshit either. We know you have him down in a mine somewhere,” Dean told him.

 

Immediately Seth was revising his plans on that piece of information. “Okay then,” he said. There were plenty of mines in the area and they had to rely on him to show them the correct one. “Trust me. The Beast will never find him,” he said confidently. Then, without warning he felt a sudden tremor, like a thread had been stretched tight, then abruptly cut. He frowned, focusing inward. “That shouldn’t be possible…” His eyes widened. “Fuck! Untie me!” Seth ordered. The four looked at him with equal parts suspicion and expectant, ready for him to try something. “Are you deaf? I said untie me! Now!”

 

“What?” Dean asked, believing it was just an act. “If you think we're going to fall for your bullshit...” he began but Seth interrupted him.

 

“Something just broke through my wards,” he told them, struggling against the ropes that bound him.

 

Both Dean and Roman looked at each other. “The Beast,” Roman said. They could hear Punk cursing.

 

“Let him go!” John said, taking charge. He put a hand on the butt of his gun which was resting in its holster. “Lead the way, or so help me I will kill you before the Saint does.”

 

Seeing the looks the four of them were giving him, Seth swallowed hard and nodded. He hurried out the door with the others right on his heels. Given the location of the mine and how deep the tunnel where Randy was being held, Seth knew they weren't going to get there in time. For the first time in the angel's mortal life, he felt fear.

 

~~~

 

”Can either one of you morons explain to me what we're doing here? Because with the Ascension on our tails and the Beast lurking around somewhere, I’m willing to cut my losses and leave,” Kevin Owens told Hideo Itami and Finn Bálor as they entered Helena from the sparely populated northwest. He had no patience for mysticism or other supernatural crap. All he cared about was getting paid.

 

“There’s something we need to do,” Itami said in Japanese. He could speak some English but it was faster to speak his native language. Finn, who understood him perfectly, translated Hideo’s words to Kevin who looked skeptical.

 

“Right, and it has to be done right here, where Hunter and the Beast are,” Kevin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

“It’s also where the angel is,” Itami told them. Hideo had been communicating with the American earth spirits ever since he and Finn had come to the new world. They tended to be friendlier than their Japanese counterparts but more flighty. However, just recently they had been agitated, almost frightened, and when he had tried to find out why, the only thing they could tell him was it had something to do with the Death Walker. Then he received a message via the spirits from another person who could communicate with them like Hideo. That person had asked him for his help. After finally finding out who that person was and learning about the terrible threat to the human world, Hideo immediately agreed, despite the danger it was putting his companions in. Well, Finn mostly. He didn't really care about Kevin. He suspected the feeling was mutual.

 

“And because we aren’t in enough trouble, we’re going to mess with Hunter’s pet angel?” Kevin asked, incredulous. He had suspected Itami was an idiot, but he couldn’t believe Bálor was going along with this insanity. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” He turned his horse to go.

 

“Wait,” Bálor told him. “If you leave now, the Ascension will find you and kill you.”

 

“And if I don’t, the Beast will find me and kill me,” Kevin told him. But he hesitated. He knew he couldn’t take the Ascension on alone. Though he hated to admit it, he needed Itami and Bálor.

 

“The Saint’s men are here,” Itami interrupted them. “They are hunting the Beast.”

 

That perked Kevin up. If they killed the Beast and maybe even the Ascension, he was in the clear.

 

“Is the Saint here?” Bálor asked him. That was good news. They had come a long way to meet the Saint of Killers.

 

“He will be soon.” But instead of looking happy about it, Itami was worried. That bit of news wasn’t going to be welcome if they arrived too late. He turned to Bálor and asked him where Seth was. Bálor frowned. “He’s that way,” he pointed to the south to the canyon beyond Helena. “But he's moving. Fast.” They turned their horses and nudged them into a lope, following the trail only a demon could sense.

 

~~~

 

Down in the deep dark, Randy raised his head even though he could physically see absolutely nothing. He shivered when he recognized the feeling of the Beast approaching, like a hot wind. He stood up, his heart slamming against the inside of his ribcage. Thanks to the heavy chains binding his wrists and ankles, he had no advantage of speed this time. He was going to have to fight, his strength pitted against the Beast’s. On the other side of the door the Beast growled, raw and guttural. In vain Randy pulled against the chains binding his wrists to the wall. There was a huge crash against the door. The entire door shuddered under the force. “Old man, I need you,” he whispered to the darkness.

 

There was no answer.

 

The door shuddered again, and Randy heard the wood crack. A third blow and the door burst inward. Randy reflexively squeezed his eyes shut and raised his arms to ward off the flying splinters he could feel hitting his face. Several large splinters buried themselves into the forearms. He heard a growl. Mouth dry, he lowered his arms and opened his eyes. Despite the total lack of light, he could see the Beast clearly, its eyes glowing red as it stood in the doorway. Luckily it looked like the Beast was still suffering from the effects of the spirit venom. The Beast inhaled and exhaled, sounding like a steam engine. Randy backed up against the wall in an effort to get more slack in the chains. The Beast took a step into the chamber and Randy raised his arms again, hands curled into fists. He braced his legs as much as he could against the heavy chains and gritted his teeth. He vowed he would fight until the Beast killed him.

 

For something that massive, the Beast moved incredibly fast. It was on him before he could draw a breath. Swinging his fist with all his strength, terror and adrenaline giving him even more speed than usual, Randy hit the Beast square in the head. The Beast backpedaled a few steps, shaking its head. Then it looked at Randy, its lips pulled away from its teeth in a parody of a grin. Randy grinned savagely back at it, mocking it. It worked, the Beast growled and charged. They locked up. The Beast, having the advantage of weight and strength, pushed Randy back against the wall. Randy took up the slack in one of the chains and wrapped it around the Beast’s neck and pulled. The Beast’s eyes glowed brighter and it laughed. The Beast’s fist slammed into his ribs and he felt them break. Another blow snapped his collarbone.

 

Gasping in pain and tasting blood, he wrapped the chain binding his other wrist around the Beast’s neck and pulled again. He cried out as the Beast caught him up in a bear hug, the pain on his broken ribs was incredible. It took a while but the lack of air was finally getting to it and the Beast dropped him to claw at the chains. Ribs grinding against each other, Randy slipped around to the Beast’s back and added his full weight to chain, trying to choke the demon down. The Beast gasped and howled as it fought to break loose. In a desperate effort, the demon slammed itself hard into the stone wall with Randy trapped between it and the solid granite. He felt more bones break but he refused to relinquish his hold. The Beast leaned forward and slammed them into the wall again. Randy saw stars as the back of his head whacked hard against the stone with a sickening crack. But he didn’t let go.

 

Enraged, the Beast turned with Randy still on its back and grabbed the chains where they were fastened to the wall and yanked hard. They both flew backwards as the bolts finally gave out. Dazed, the Beast slowly unwrapped the chains from around its neck and drew a long breath. A flicker of hope ignited inside of Randy. The door was open, he could get away. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring his body's agony and dizziness and felt along the wall towards the door, the chains dragging behind him. If he could keep working his way back up the tunnel, provided the tunnel didn’t branch or anything…

 

The Beast grabbed the ends of the chains and yanked him to a stop. A pair of hideously strong arms wrapped around his stomach. The next thing he knew he was flying backwards, landing hard on the back of his shoulders and head. He felt something break deep inside him and his mouth was full of blood. Dimly, he realized he lost all feeling in his legs. He wasn’t sure if he was just stunned or the landing had truly broken his back. He choked on the blood filling his lungs. Instinctively he knew there was no recovering from these injuries.

 

 _Fuck you, Hunter_ , he thought. He closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness into his mind and the cold numbness into his body.

 

Then his eyes widened in horror as the Beast flipped him over onto his stomach. Weakly, he scrabbled at the floor with his hands, trying to drag his broken body away. He cried out, blood pouring out of his mouth when he felt the full weight of the Beast come down on top of him. It sank its teeth deep into the back of his neck and hot blood trickled down his shoulders over the demon marks, activating them. Oh god. “No! Not again!” He felt the blood-infused marks on the back of his shoulders twist and flare, pulsing with the demon’s latent power. The Beast’s hands grabbed his shoulders, claws sinking deep into his flesh and pinning him to the cold floor. He tried to fight, to push the Beast off but he had no chance after the fatal beating he had just received. The Beast, driven into frenzy by Benoit’s mark, writhed against him, blood and sweat mingling as Randy reached out with a manacled arm for help that would not come.

 

A broken, blood-choked cry of “ _Father!_ ” echoed through the dark, empty tunnel, followed by the Beast’s animal grunting.

 

Then there was silence.

 

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

A huge thank you to Kiss316 for beta-ing this monster. And to everyone who takes the time to send me kudos. They are like warm fuzzies for my muse.

 

**Legend Killer Chapter 22**

 

 

… _......_

 

“Shit. C'mon, son, don't give up on me.”

 

… _...........doesn't matter................_

 

“Yes it does. You can fight. You have _his_ strength.”

 

….. _..._...................... _just want to rest_..............

 

“Don’t do that. Bad things will happen if you die like this.”

 

… _.......................................don't care..................._

 

“I know you don’t and I can’t blame you. You’ve been dealt a shitty hand your whole life. It sucks but they need you. _He_ needs you.”

 

… _......................._ _so tired..........._

 

“Orton?”

 

…..........

 

“ _Randal!?”_

 

…

 

Crouching over Randy’s broken, violated body, Mark sighed. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on US Marshal Randal Keith Orton. When they carried him into Mark's office, the young man was delirious, suffering from a bullet wound in the stomach. They told him Randy and his deputies were escorting a vicious criminal to jail and Randy had been shot in a failed escape attempt. After slicing Randy open to get at the bullet, Mark saw the damage and knew there was nothing he could do to save the young man. Though he did his best to patch Randy up, the only thing productive he could do was to keep a vigil by Randy’s side as he laid in agony for days, his fever raging beyond Mark’s ability to control.

 

And if being gutshot wasn’t bad enough, there were the terrible burns on the back of Randy’s neck and shoulders that compounded his suffering. Unlike normal burns, these were always burning hot to the touch, no matter how many cold compresses Mark laid on them in a vain attempt to soothe Randy’s torment. It was obvious someone had done that to Randy deliberately.

 

As he watched over Randy, he learned a lot about the young man's life. Randy, in his delirium raved about Ted's and Cody’s bloody torture. Other times he spoke about fighting in the war and sometimes about raiders burning his home down while his family trapped inside burned alive. But most disturbing was when Randy’s fever burned hottest that he spoke about a demon named Benoit and meeting _him_. Mark grew concerned when he heard that. It was also during that time he learned how Randy got those burns and Mark was afraid he was going to be sick.

 

But it wasn’t always about the horror in Randy’s life. Once, when Randy was sleeping restlessly, his skin hot and dry to the touch, Mark had just placed a cold cloth over his forehead when Randy’s eyes flared open. “Father?” he whispered as he looked up at Mark. The young man’s voice was dry from dehydration but the hope in his confused eyes was heartbreaking. Before Mark could respond, to tell him that his farther had been dead for many years, Randy’s eyes closed again and he drifted back into unconsciousness. Mark studied him thoughtfully. An uneasy thought came to him but it was too early to tell for sure.

 

Mark had honestly thought he was watching yet another young life ending far too soon. But somehow, miraculously, Randy rallied and pulled through. Mark remembered his astonishment when he woke up from a brief nap about a week later and found Randy’s fever had broken sometime during the night. Mark stared incredulous when he saw the bullet wound had stopped seeping and Randy was sleeping peacefully. But the haunted look in his eyes when Randy woke up told Mark that even though the young man was healing physically, mentally he was still tied to the ground watching his friends be tortured to death. With unease, Mark recognized the rage that filled the young man, eerily similar to another whom he had encountered in a different place. He made a note to keep an eye on the young man as he began to figure out just who it was that Randy resembled and why Randy had mistaken _him_ for someone who had been dead a long time.

 

It was the conversation they had after Hunter’s visit that cemented Mark’s suspicion. Hunter hadn’t changed; he was still arrogant and overbearing. But it was Randy’s reaction to the judge that laid the final piece of the puzzle. As he watched them talk, Mark realized Randy was suddenly wary of the man who had been his surrogate father. He answered Hunter’s questions in single syllables, growing more and more withdrawn until Mark stepped in and told Hunter that Randy needed to rest. It surprised Mark how protective he felt about Randy. Despite everything he had been through, the young man had fire and spirit. He was determined to get back on his feet in spite of Mark’s advice to be patient and let his body heal.

 

“Okay, just think about what I said. I hate to lose you,” Hunter was telling Randy, who didn’t respond. Hunter got to his feet and nodded at Mark. He then went on his way, looking strangely satisfied.

 

“What was that about?” Mark asked Randy after Hunter left. “You aren’t staying with the Marshals?”

 

Randy studied Mark for a long minute, as if wondering if he could trust the doctor. Then he looked away. “I can’t. They were sacrificed because of me,” he told Mark, his voice devoid of emotion.

 

“Ted and Cody?” Mark asked.

 

Randy nodded once, still not looking at Mark.

 

“You mean because Benoit was a demon?” Mark asked, remembering Randy’s delirious ramblings.

 

Surprised, Randy looked at Mark square in the eyes for the first time. Mark could see the wariness there. In a flash of insight, he realized Randy didn’t think Mark would believe him or think he was crazy. “How did you know?” Randy asked.

 

“You talked a lot while you were sick,” Mark explained.

 

“I’m not crazy,” Randy told him as if he didn’t think Mark would believe him. He looked away again.

 

Any sane person might have tried to convince Randy that it had all been just a bad dream, brought on from the bullet wound and resulting fever. But Mark knew better. “Was it Benoit who did that too?” he indicated the burns, which were finally starting to cool down, although they were still a deep, unnatural black.

 

Shuddering, Randy went deathly pale under his tan and curled his hands into fists but he didn’t answer Mark’s question, at least not out loud. Randy’s reaction was enough to tell Mark that he was right. “What do you intend to do?” Mark asked, changing the topic.

 

Surprised, Randy glanced up at Mark, and again Mark was forcibly reminded again of someone else when he replied coldly. “I’m going to kill them all.”

 

As Randy grew stronger he began to grow restless, hating to be confined to his bed. Mark knew it wasn’t going to be much longer before Randy was recovered enough to leave. Mark tried to keep a close eye on him but despite his best efforts, Randy disappeared one night, leaving his badge behind. Mark reported it to Hunter, knowing the judge would find out anyway. Not long after, Mark began hearing rumors about Randy killing various people without rhyme or reason. Everyone was at a loss to explain why Hunter’s favorite had suddenly gone rogue, except Mark who had seen the burns across the back of Randy’s shoulders and knew why Randy was doing what he was doing.

 

And what the young man was sacrificing in the name of vengeance.

 

In the deep darkness, Mark bowed his head and grieved. Death didn’t usually affect the Undertaker. It wasn’t the first death he had seen. But this one was particularly bad and not just because of the sheer brutality. Randy’s soul, damaged by years of using a weapon he was never meant to wield was trapped in his corpse, unable to move on.

 

And even _that_ wasn’t the worst part of this whole debacle. When the Saint of Killers came back, Mark had no doubt the human world body count would reach biblical levels. What was coming would make the War Between the States seem like a playground fight. And after _he_ was done exacting his vengeance for his son here? Well, the angel's presence only made it obvious the Saint’s next target would be Heaven itself. Mark wondered if he had made a mistake when he met the rage-filled soldier amidst the frozen the fires of Hell. The decision to exchange his sword for the human’s body was the first impulsive one he had ever made. Someone else could be Death while he finally could experience _life_.

 

But there was no taking it back now. He wracked his brain for a way to avert the oncoming storm, and came up empty. He had tried to warn them but they didn’t listen. No one in history had ever been a threat to the Creator before and the fools had panicked, making the situation infinitely worse. He could only hope the Saint didn't come back right then. As if on cue, the torch flared and flickered and Mark raised his head as he sensed the imminent return of the one who had disappeared. “Well, shit,” he muttered to himself.

 

And in reality, there wasn’t much else to say.

 

~~~~~

 

As they approached the entrance to the mine, Dean, Roman and Seth could easily sense the Beast's overwhelming presence. They pulled their horses to a stop just as it emerged from the dark and stood in the opening, blinking in the sunlight. The mere sight of the Beast terrified the horses and they refused to come closer, tossing their heads and trying to rear. All the riders quickly dismounted and turned the panicking animals loose, letting them run away. Roman, Seth and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder as they sized up their opponent. By the feel of it, the Beast was once again at full power, maybe even stronger than ever.

 

The Beast's chest, arms and the lower half of its face was covered in drying blood. When it saw them it ran its tongue out and laughed in delight. It shifted its weight from foot to foot, almost dancing in anticipation.

 

“Shit!” Dean said staring at it, unknowingly echoing Mark. “That can’t be good.”

 

“What do we do now?” John asked, feeling sick. It looked like Crowfoot’s apocalyptic vision was coming to pass and there was fuck-all anyone could do about it.

 

“You three will have to fight it. Cena and I will try to get to Legend Killer,” Punk told them. John gave him a look that spoke volumes about what they would find when they did, but if there even a slim chance Randy was still alive down there…

 

“Wait, what do you mean _you three_?” Seth asked, appalled. “You mean me too?” He knew just by looking at it, the Beast was so strong now it would have no issue tearing him apart. The arrogance that had masqueraded as his courage had deserted him.

 

“Whose blood do you think that is? You are responsible for this whole mess and if you don’t help fix it we are all dead!” John gestured at the Beast. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was Randy’s blood covering the Beast.

 

“They will need your help,” Punk said calmly, ignoring John’s outburst. “They are not strong enough to fight the Beast and win.”

 

Seth looked nervous. “Yeah, okay.” The Authority he answered to wasn’t going to be pleased with his screw-up. He had truly believed that his wards could keep the Beast away from Orton. Too late he realized he had been arrogant and overestimated his power against that of the Beast’s. But that was a moot point if the Saint came back and found his son had been killed while in Heaven’s custody. He had to fix his mistake or the Creator itself would be in mortal danger.

 

The entire heavenly host could not stand against the rage of Saint of Killers.

 

“Can they beat it?” John asked Punk. Even though he had no supernatural powers, he could tell the Beast was insanely strong. Punk only shrugged. He wasn’t going to guess.

 

Dean and Roman didn’t even have to look at each other. They didn’t need to be told they were certainly going to lose this fight. The Beast was stronger than ever and there was no help from the earth spirits this time. But they would never back down, no matter the odds against them.

 

“You guys ready?” John asked them.

 

“Yeah,” Roman answered, his gaze never left the Beast. He didn’t know if the Saint was going to come back. The last time (was it only truly just last night?) they faced this monster it had already been weakened, and they had help from the earth spirits. Now, it was at full strength and there was no help in sight. All he knew for sure was he was going to do his best to protect Dean. He didn’t allow himself to think about Randy, trapped down there alone in the dark.

 

“Let’s do this,” Dean said. His eyes were fever bright as the thrill of battle started to sing in his veins.

 

Side by side, Roman and Dean walked forward. At first, Seth followed behind them but then he sucked up his courage and moved to fall into step beside Roman. Dean cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. The Beast watched them with amusement. Its power rolled off of it like heat waves. At some unseen signal, the three split up, Dean going left, Seth going right and Roman straight up the middle. The Beast lowered its head and charged at Roman. It moved so fast Roman barely had time to brace his feet before the Beast tackled him. The impact took him down to the ground. Roman cried out as he felt his sternum crack from the force of the blow. But the Beast didn’t get a chance to follow up before Dean was on it, punching the demon for all he was worth. Roaring in rage, the Beast turned on the lunatic, forgetting Roman. Dean took a step back and spread his arms wide, making himself a bigger target, daring the Beast of come after him. The Beast obliged by launching itself at Dean. Despite being prepared for it, Dean didn't quite get out of the way in time and the Beast took him down to the ground with such force all of the air whooshed out of Dean's lungs. Flat on his back, he barely got an arm up to block the Beast's hands from grabbing his throat and tearing his head off.

 

Then Seth was beside the Beast, channeling all his power into a powerful kick that lifted the Beast off of Dean and through the air. The Beast landed hard but with an agility that was belied by its size, it was immediately back on its feet, roaring a challenge. Seth stood his ground while Roman and Dean regained their feet. Side by side the three stood, magnificent in their strength but by now they knew it was inevitable they were doomed to lose.

 

Hideo, Bálor and Owens had ridden up just as the Beast leveled Dean. They had never seen it before and Kevin whistled in amazement. “If I had known about this, I would have told you guys to go fuck yourselves,” he told Bálor. Their horses were going wild at the Beast's proximity and they were forced to dismount. The horses bolted, desperate to get away from the battlefield.

 

Nearby Punk and John were making their way to the mine entrance. They were almost there when the Beast looked right at them. It charged at them, but Dean reacted faster than Roman and Seth, launching himself at the Beast. The Beast caught him out of mid-air and with unbelievable strength threw Dean bodily at John and Punk. They were able to get their arms up in time to catch him but they all went down in a heap of bodies. The Beast stalked towards them but Roman ran up behind it. It roared as Roman jumped on its back and wrapped a strong arm around its neck, trying to choke it down. It struggled, clawing at Roman’s arms, leaving deep gouges. But Roman refused to let go.

 

“You okay?” John asked Dean as they untangled themselves from the pile. His and Punk’s bruises were not important compared to what the three fighters were sustaining.

 

“I’m better than okay,” Dean promised, eyes bright. “It will take much more than what the Beast can dish out to keep me down.” He twisted to his feet and hurried back to the fight. Just as he got there, the Beast managed to get Roman off its back and holding on to Roman’s arm, slammed him down on his back into the dirt. Roman cried out as he felt his arm break and some of his ribs. The Beast braced his foot against Roman’s side and pulled. Roman screamed as he felt the ligaments and muscles start to tear. The Beast was going to pull his arm off!

 

“Roman!” Dean screamed and in an act of desperation, reached down and dealt the Beast a low blow. It shouldn’t have affected it, but the Beast turned a bit green and released Roman’s arm. It turned and glared at Dean who laughed in its face. He stopped laughing when the Beast grabbed Dean by the throat and slammed him down to the ground. Immediately Seth was there, running at the Beast and hitting it in the face with his knee. Blood exploded from the Beast’s nose but it didn’t slow it down one bit. It grabbed Seth by the midsection and threw him over backwards. With the agility of a cat, Seth landed on his feet and without stopping, he jumped back in the air and twisting his body, kicking the Beast in the head. The Beast staggered, shook its head and lashed out. It was too fast and it caught Seth right in the solar plexus. Seth doubled over, his arms cradling his midsection. Even though he was as strong as Dean and Roman, that blow had severely damaged several of his internal organs. He slumped to the ground, hoping he could heal himself enough to live a few more seconds. But the Beast was right there and he knew he was out of time.

 

“They are getting their ass kicked,” Kevin observed dispassionately.

 

But then Dean, the lunatic who just wouldn’t stay down, jumped on the Beast’s back and wrapped his arms around the Beast’s neck. He pushed his fingers into the Beast’s eyes, trying to blind the demon. Desperately, the Beast threw itself over backwards, trapping Dena underneath it. Dean felt his head slam into the ground, but he refused to let go. Blood spurted out of the Beast’s eyes. It reached up and pried Dean’s hands away. Then it slammed its head backwards, Dean saw it coming and managed to turn his head enough so only his cheekbone was crushed. Dean’s eye was already swelling shut and he was dazed as the Beast climbed off of him and turned around. The blood did nothing to mask the sick fury in the Beast’s eyes. It moved in to crush Dean’s skull. With one huge foot, it stepped down on Dean's head. Dean screamed as he felt his skull starting to crack.

 

“Dean!” Roman shouted in terror as he scrambled to his feet, broken arm and ribs forgotten. He knew he wasn’t going to get there in time to stop the Beast from killing his brother. “NO!”

 

An icy wind roared through the trees and the air turned bitterly cold. Still flat on his back, Dean’s eyes flashed green and the Colt Walkers appeared in his holsters. Faster than the human eye could follow, he drew one of the Colts and fired it point-blank right in the Beast's face. Before the report finished rolling off the nearby mountains, the Beast’s body flopped to the ground beside Dean and was still. Still on the ground, Dean’s eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.

 

Incredibly, the entire fight had taken less than three minutes.

 

The silence that followed was broken by Roman drawing in a breath and angrily demanding, “It's was about damned time! Where _the fuck_ have you been, old man?” Actually it was way past damned time!

 

The Saint slowly turned his gaze to Roman. He looked as satisfied as a slab of granite could. “ _Taking care of some business_ ,” he said, his voice was gravel and cobwebs.

 

Eyes huge, Bálor gasped at the sight of the Saint. He was taller than Roman by several inches but not overly tall. The spirit himself was a middle-aged adult with longish red hair and pale green eyes. But there was something about it that just screamed _incredibly_ _dangerous_ to Bálor. He found himself pressed up against Hideo's side, unconsciously seeking reassurance from his long-time friend. None of the regular humans could see the spirit but they could feel it. They shivered at the icy rage that still lingered in the air. Even Kevin looked uneasy. However, Roman was unfazed. Holding his broken arm tight at his side, he marched right up to the Saint and got in his face. “Taking care of some business? Well it better have been fucking important, because we needed you!”

 

The Saint narrowed his eyes but he answered. _“If you must know, I was securing this world from future invasions from other realms.”_

 

That caught Roman up short. The Saint had been rather ambiguous in his reply. Then Roman glanced down at Dean, unconscious, blood still leaking from his ears and nose and felt a fresh surge of anger. He was about to berate the Saint again for his tardiness when a movement at the mine entrance caught their attention.

 

“Oh shit,” John breathed what sounded like a plea, his breath steaming in the icy air. They followed his gaze and understood exactly what he meant. Behind them, Punk had made his way to Seth, who was concentrating on healing himself.

 

Dressed in his full undertaker regalia, Mark was coming out of the mine, effortlessly carrying Randy’s lifeless body. Seeing them all standing there, Mark stopped and knelt down, gently laying Randy's corpse on the ground. Then he stood up, and took a few steps back, the black of his coat darker than the mine tunnel.

 

The spirit jumped into Roman before he could protest. Green-eyed he stalked forward, urgency and denial in every step. “ _My son?_ ” he asked, reaching a hand out to the broken body of the one he had come back for. The bones of his skull showed faint below his skin.

 

Mark didn’t say anything. He just shook his head.

 

For several heartbeats, there was no reaction, no movement as the Saint of Killers stared at the blood-covered body of his son. There was no breeze nor did the birds sing. No one, neither human nor part demon dared to move, not even to breathe. The world held its breath. Then his hands curled into fists and ice began to form on the ground in a circle around Roman’s feet, spreading outward. Then Roman threw his head back and opened his mouth wide. “OOOAHHH” the spirit's rage and grief were terrifying. He crouched and slammed a fist into the ground, which shook under the impact. It just a minor tremble at first, but soon began to intensify into a full-blown earthquake that sent them all to the ground. They could hear screams in the distance from the town and the rending of wood as trees splintered and fell. Buildings made of wood and brick tore apart under the stress. Thick black dust billowed from the mine entrance as the tunnel collapsed, forever sealing off the chamber where Randy had died.

 

Slowly the Saint stood up, his head bowed. “ _They will pay for this! I am going to kill them all!”_

 

As Roman turned and stalked towards them, intent on the town, Punk grabbed Seth’s collar and shoved the angel forward. Seth landed on his knees directly in front of the Saint, shaking with terror. The Saint looked at Seth, his eyes turned solid white and glowing like ice in the moonlight. He put a hand on one of the Colt Walkers with his good arm.

 

“Wait!” Seth pleaded, his eyes were wild. He had never felt such heart-stopping fear in his entire life. “I can heal him!” he offered, saying the first thing he could think of that would maybe get the Saint to spare his life.

 

“ _My son is dead because of you, you miserable worm,”_ the Saint said. _“What good will healing his body do?”_

 

Seth swallowed hard and said, “Not just his body, I can heal his soul. His soul is trapped in his body. I can make it so he can move on.”

 

“ _You are lying!”_ the Saint snarled. He drew the Colt and aimed it at Seth.

 

“NO I”M NOT!” Seth screamed, one heartbeat from sobbing. “I can heal his soul, just _please_ let me try.”

 

The Saint was visibly tightening his finger on the trigger when Mark stepped between Death and the angel. “Wait,” he counseled. If he was bothered by the real possibility of getting shot by a Colt Walker, he did a remarkable job of hiding it.

 

“ _He is responsible for this. I will kill him!”_ the Saint insisted.

 

“That’s true. He is responsible. But only for his death. Maybe you forgot but y _ou_ are responsible for his damaged soul.” The Saint froze but before he could respond, Mark went on. “Maybe he can fix what _you_ destroyed. Give him a chance.” The fact that he was arguing with Death personified didn’t seem to matter to Mark Calaway. “What do you have to lose? And if he can help your son like he claims, then isn't it worth taking the chance? It’s not like he can escape from _you_.”

 

The Saint paused, scowling. He knew Mark was right. “Do it!” he ordered Seth. “And if you don't, I will kill you and not even your Creator will be able to bring you back.” The scorn in his voice was scathing.

 

Terrified, Seth crawled over beside Randy's limp body and reached out to touch him. His entire body was shaking so hard he could barely stay upright. When he touched Randy’s corpse his eyes shot open in horror at the damage not only to Randy's body but his soul as well. He hadn't bothered to check it when Seth had healed Randy before. It never occurred to him to try to use his power to heal a soul. But now, with his and the life of the Creator on the line... He found himself staring up at Mark, who for the first time was showing emotion. He was willing Seth to do what he claimed he could do, Seth realized. He nodded. “His soul...” he said, unable to disguise his horror.

 

The Undertaker nodded in sorrow. Looming next to him was the Saint of Killers, glaring down at him. The Saint growled and shifted, but didn’t fire the gun he kept aimed at Seth.

 

Gathering all his courage, Seth reached out again. The damage to Randy's soul was terrible. Slowly, he channeled his power and started to heal it. The demon mark remained inert, having been completely drained by the Beast. Gaining confidence, Seth called upon more and more of his power. He soothed the torn edges and gaping holes of the spiritual essence that was Randy Orton. It took a long time, and Seth was sweating with the effort it took but he didn’t stop until Randy’s soul was completely mended. Then, after he did all he could do for Randy's soul, Seth moved on to repair the broken bones and torn tissues. The crushed spinal cord and the broken skull were the hardest, yet Seth didn't quit. He used all his power to fix what the Beast had destroyed. Darkness gathered at the edges of his vision and he was on the verge of collapsing when he glanced up at Mark again, as if asking for permission. Mark nodded in approval. Completely drained, Seth slumped to the ground, exhausted. He had used every last ounce of his power.

 

For the first time in years, since the night Benoit had sacrificed his friends Randy’s body and soul were whole again.

 

Despite the company he was in, Kevin absolutely could not keep his mouth shut. “What was the point of all that? He’s still dead.”

 

“Thank you for letting us know,” John said sarcastically, glancing at the Saint in apprehension. “But I don’t know of anything we can do to fix that.”

 

But Mark, who had turned back to the Saint of Killers, was holding him with his gaze, and said, “I do. And if I can bring him the rest of the way back, will you reconsider your vengeance?” his voice was mild.

 

Hope flared in the stony eyes as they searched Mark’s. The Saint nodded once. _“If you can do that, I would consider sparing them,”_ he said.

 

The tall undertaker turned to Randy’s body and knelt beside him opposite of Seth. He reached down and opened Randy’s mouth with his hands. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth directly against Randy’s, blowing deeply. Randy’s chest rose. They all watched, fascinated as Mark took another deep breath and once again, exhaled directly into Randy’s mouth. He did that three more times, then he sat back and curled a large hand into a fist. He brought it down hard directly over the Legend Killer’s still heart. The he resumed his position beside Randy’s head, pressing his lips against Randy’s and breathing.

 

“What the hell is he doing?” Kevin asked.

 

“Breathing for him and making his heart beat,” Punk said, his eyes bright with hope.

 

None of them dared to move as they watched Mark work on Randy. For an incredibly long minute, nothing changed. Then, they all jumped as Randy suddenly gasped and his eyes shot open. He coughed and clutched his bruised chest. Rolling onto his side, he squeezed his eyes shut and just focused on breathing. They all stared in shock. Somehow, without magic Mark had brought Randy back to life.

 

“How did you know to do that?” John asked in wonder. He had never heard of such a thing.

 

“It delayed me many times in the future,” Mark said cryptically. He rested a hand on Randy's back, comforting him as Randy tried to mentally orient himself. Randy shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then looked around. They all watched as Randy weakly sat up. No one moved to help him though; Death still loomed too close and none of them dared to draw _his_ attention. Then Randy looked up and met the granite gaze of his father. For a second the Saint’s expression softened just the slightest bit. _“Son, I’m glad you’re alive,”_ he started to say but Randy’s expression darkened. It took him three attempts to get to his feet, and he only stayed there because Mark reached out and steadied him with a hand under his arm. He was still suffering the effects of being dead but his eyes were hard as his father’s. “Where were you?” he asked. His voice was as cold as the air around the Saint.

 

“ _I was in Hell, killing demons so they can no longer come here,”_ the Saint said. _“I was doing it to protect you.”_

 

“Protect me? Protect me?!” Randy snarled, thoroughly enraged. Though he was usually a bit more level-headed, he still had his father’s temper. “The FUCKING BEAST beat me _to death_ while I was chained to a wall! Is that how you protect me?” He shouted as he got right up into the Saint’s face.

 

Shocked, the Saint was starting to get pissed again and to prevent an all-out shouting match between the Saint of Killers and the Legend Killer, Mark stepped in between them, gently pushing Randy back a step. Honestly, he was the only one with the guts to do it. “Calm down, both of you. Randal, you go over there.” He pointed to where John, Punk and the others were watching apprehensively. Glaring at his father, Randy growled under his breath but he didn't argue with Mark. He stalked away, almost falling over before he got to them but Punk and John moved to catch him. Turning back to the Saint, Mark looked him dead in the eye. “Did you kill all the demons?” he asked curiously.

 

“ _Yes,”_ the Saint replied. _“Hell is now empty.”_

 

“What about here?” Mark asked.

 

“ _There is a couple left,”_ the Saint said, looking over at Bálor. _“But once they’ve been taken care of, that’s it. No more demons._ ”

 

“And Heaven?” Mark asked, lowering his voice so the rest couldn’t hear the answer.

 

“ _What do you think?”_ the Saint growled, eyes flaring white briefly. Mark studied him and nodded, not surprised.

 

“Then I think you need to leave for a while.” Mark raised a hand to forestall the oncoming objection. “Just for a while. Give him time to cool down. He's been through a lot and he needs time to process it. Go finish up what you need to. And in the process, learn what you are and what you can do.”

 

But the Saint glanced over at Randy, doubtful. Mark understood. “You don't need to worry, I’ll watch over him,” he assured the worried father. Mark had no intention of telling the Saint exactly what had happened to Randy down in the dark. The last thing humanity needed was an overprotective father with rage issues who could kill anything dealing with an unstable son who had been severely traumatized.

 

Nodding, the Saint looked over at Randy with regret. _“I should have been there for him. I didn't want him involved in this but when I saw what Benoit did to him, I could not deny him his vengeance. I didn't get there in time that time either.”_ Then he sighed and said, “ _All right old friend. We’ll do this your way. Let me take care of one last thing and I’ll be on my way. But promise me, you’ll take care of my boy.”_

 

“I promise.”

 

That was enough for The Saint of Killers. He turned his gaze to Itami and Bálor. _“You wanted to talk to me?”_

 

Finn shuddered but he was brave. “I want you to kill Bálor,” he said. There was only a slight tremor in his voice.

 

The Saint regarded Finn. _“If I do, you will both die. The demon has partially merged with your soul. The guns cannot tell the difference between you and your demon.”_

 

Finn looked crushed. The Saint had been his last chance to get rid of Bálor. Itami put a hand on Finn's arm in an attempt to comfort his friend. Finn smiled wanly. He knew what Itami was doing and appreciated it. “I'm sorry Hideo,” he said. “Looks like you are stuck with me.” Without Hideo’s ongoing help, Bálor would completely take over Finn.

 

Hideo shrugged. “It’s not such a bad fate,” he said philosophically. “It could be worse, you could be stuck with Owens.” Finn laughed in spite of himself. Hideo had a good point.

 

Then the Saint turns to Seth who was still lying on the ground, weak as a kitten. _“Even though you healed my son, you are still responsible for what was done to him. For that, I will kill you.”_ He aimed a Colt at Seth, but once again Mark intervened.

 

“I agree that he must pay for what he did. But he still holds an innocent soul captive. Let them deal with him,” Mark said, indicating Punk and Hideo.

 

“ _What did you have in mind?”_ the Saint asked, eyes narrowed _._

 

Now, Punk motioned to Hideo who quickly came forward. They knelt beside Seth. At Punk’s direction Finn and Kevin pinned the angel down. Seth was so exhausted and frightened that he couldn’t even form a protest when Punk took a massive skinning knife and cut the back of his shirt from the collar to the waist. Taking a small jar of black ink out of his pocket, Hideo quickly painted a series of symbols down Seth’s spine with a steady hand.

 

Suddenly, the angel realized what they were doing. “Wait, stop!” Seth pleaded; starting to panic and trying to fight back but it was too late. Punk and Hideo had already started the seal. Punk chanted a prayer, and Hideo joined him. At the last second, Hideo slammed his palm into the middle of Seth’s upper back. Seth slumped to the ground unconscious. The ink glowed briefly then soaked into Seth’s skin, permanently staining it.

 

“Will this suffice?” Hideo asked the Saint in Japanese.

 

The Saint nodded, understanding him perfectly. _“That is sufficient.”_

 

Smiling, Hideo bowed briefly to the Saint. The Saint tipped his head in acknowledgment. Then he looked at Randy one last time and abruptly departed. Roman staggered in shock. His eyes were wide as he sank to his knees. Being possessed by the Saint, and seeing in his mind what he had been up to since leaving them left Roman with too many images in his head. Images of Hell silent and dark.

 

And Heaven.

 

He tried not to vomit. Mark walked over to him and held out a hand. Grateful, Roman reached out and grabbed it with his good arm, using it for leverage to stand. For a second he searched Mark's face. Mark actually looked proud. “Well, kid. We did it. We saved the world.”

 

TBC

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Legend Killer Chapter 23**

 

_Mark actually looked proud. “Well, kid. We did it. We saved the world.”_

 

“We were lucky,” Roman croaked, his voice was so hoarse he could barely talk. But still…“And don't call me kid.” He scanned the area looking for Dean and found him several feet away. His brother was still unconscious, lying beside the body of the Beast. Turning away from Mark, Roman trudged over to Dean and reached down to feel his neck for a pulse, just to reassure himself Dean was still alive. Blood was leaking from Dean’s nose and ears. His crushed cheekbone was swollen to twice its normal size. Bending over made Roman’s head swim and the pain in his arm and ribs nearly had him on the ground next to Dean. He tried to draw a deeper breath but couldn’t. He closed his eyes to will the pain away. It didn’t work. Giving up, Roman’s knees slowly buckled and he landed in the dirt near Dean. He put his good hand out to steady himself. He felt far, far older than his twenty-nine years.

 

“Take it easy there, kid,” Mark told him as he motioned to Hideo to go over and help Roman. Mark himself was deliberately staying near Randy in order to quickly intervene if Randy’s fragile mental state started to unravel. He could see the dazed look in the Legend Killer’s eyes as Randy watched Roman. Nodding, Hideo cautiously approached Roman and knelt down beside him. Itami started to examine him but Roman, who had no idea who Hideo was, glared suspiciously at the newcomer. Seeing Roman’s hostile reaction to Hideo, Finn joined them, both to reassure Roman that his friend was legitimate and to protect Hideo if Roman tried anything. That didn’t necessarily reassure Roman, who could sense the demon inside of Finn. But he was just too hurt and mentally worn out to put up much of a fuss. Besides, Mark seemed to have enough faith in Hideo to send him over to help. However he did look over at Mark again, who nodded that he should let Hideo do what needed doing. With a tired sigh, Roman acquiesced, but he kept himself between Dean and the strangers.

 

Back where the others were standing, Randy turned and abruptly embraced Punk, holding his normally aloof friend tightly. He could feel how uncomfortable Punk was in his arms, but Randy didn’t care. He had truly believed his friend was lost to him when he had been possessed by Nexus. Punk being alive and whole was nothing short of a miracle. Finally he released Punk and stepped back, studying him critically. There was no sign of Nexus in Punk but there was something different about him now. “How?” Randy asked, grateful for something to think about besides what the Beast did to him.

 

“Grandfather,” was all Punk said with a strange smile.

 

Puzzled, Randy nodded. He knew Punk wouldn’t elaborate in front of strangers so he explanation was enough for now. Randy was already feeling stronger; the ache from the bruise on his chest was fading but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the opening of the mine or the body of the Beast. If he did, he would lose his mind. He noticed Kevin standing nearby with a sneer on his face. John was still hanging around too, looking like he had aged ten years over night. Randy studied him critically. “Crowfoot decided to help you,” he said.

 

Grim, John nodded. “Yeah,” was all he could bring himself to say on that subject. But Randy, who understood what John had gone through once again looked at him with sympathy. This time John didn’t get mad.

 

“Are you going to hug him too?” Kevin snarked.

 

Tense, Randy’s eyes narrowed and he started to respond, but John cut in, ignoring Kevin. “What now?” he asked Randy.

 

“I’m going to finish this,” Randy told him as he shifted his gaze in the direction of Helena. Thick gray smoke was billowing into the air. It was obvious many of the buildings were on fire. There were probably many injured, or even dead. But Randy was beyond caring about what was happening in Helena. There was only one thing he wanted now.

 

“Finish it how?” John asked. “Are you going after the Ascension?”

 

“No, those two can take care of them.” Randy motioned to Roman and Dean. “I’m going after Hunter,” the Legend Killer said, his voice carrying a hint of his father’s icy rage. He didn’t say it very loud, but the others heard him anyway.

 

“Not without me, you’re not,” Roman called over to him, wincing as Hideo prodded his ribs. He was glaring at Randy but with warning, not anger. Being inside the Saint’s head for so long, Roman understood Randy better than anyone else, aside from Mark. One of the Saint's memories stood out to him; that of a younger Randy covered in blood and defiantly facing a sadistically grinning Benoit alone, hatred and horror on his face. The Smith and Wesson in his hands shook hard and the burns across his shoulders were a deep, vicious black. At his feet were two dead humans, Benoit’s men Roman figured. And in the background he had gotten a glimpse of what he could only assume were Ted and Cody’s bodies hanging from the prison wagon. They too were covered in blood, their exposed lungs hanging against their backs. Ted’s were still moving, albeit feebly. Nauseated, Roman shuddered and tried to put it out of his mind. He never wanted to see anything like that again. Hideo immediately apologized, assuming Roman’s reaction was because of something he did. Roman didn’t bother to correct him.

 

“Fine, but I am the one who takes him out,” Randy told him. “So get your ass ready to move. Otherwise I'm going without you. I don't want Hunter getting away.”

 

Roman nodded. As much as he wanted to kill Hunter himself, he would be content just to watch the judge die.

 

But John planted himself in front of Randy. “I can’t allow you to do that.”

 

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Randy shook his head. “Did you just say that you can’t _allow_ me to kill Hunter? Here’s a bit of news for you Cena, you can’t stop me.” He stepped up into John's personal space, using his greater height to try to intimidate John.

 

“Maybe not, but I will try. You forget that I am still a US Marshal and while Hunter has broken the law, he must be punished according to the law. That’s the way it works. And if you try to kill him I will arrest you.” John glared at up Randy defiantly. He knew that Randy could break his neck without any effort, but he stuck to his principles. From over where he sat on the ground, Roman raised his eyebrows in surprise. It never occurred to any of them that John would try to stop them from killing Hunter.

 

For his part, Randy was stunned that John would deliberately try to stop him. After everything he had gone through because of Hunter, from Benoit to the Beast, he was _not_ going to let John get in his way. Knowing both Roman and Dean would have his back, Randy was closing a fist to break John's jaw when Mark put a hand on his shoulder. Jerking violently away, Randy glared at Mark, who was unaffected. “What?” the Legend Killer growled at the undertaker. “You’re not going to stop me, either” Randy vowed. “No one is.”

 

By now all eyes were on the three men, one a former Marshal, one a current one and the third was a self-described 'simple' country doctor who somehow held influence over everyone, include Death.

 

“Son, Hunter left town right as all this shit happened with the Beast. He has about ten guys with him. If you go after him, you’ll be shot to shit and I promised your old man that I would watch out for you.” He saw Randy go pale under his tan at the mention of the Beast and knew he needed to get Randy out of there soon. By his nearly attacking John, Mark could see Randy was barely holding it together.

 

But the Legend Killer was shaking his head. “I’m going after him. He needs to die,” Randy said stubbornly.

 

“I agree, if anyone needs killing it’s him. But he’s been recalled back out East.”

 

Cursing, Randy looked around for a horse, but they had all run off when the Beast appeared. In order to distract Randy, Mark told John, “And you’ve been appointed temporary sheriff of Helena until they can elect one.”

 

“On whose authority?” John asked, surprised. He had thought his career in law enforcement was over. As soon as his superiors learned about the shit-show the situation in Helena had become and John’s part in allowing it to happen, they would without a doubt arrest him, or at least strip him of his badge. This bit of news came out the blue.

 

“The telegram that recalled Hunter, appointed you. It was from Vincent Kennedy McMahon.”

 

“Judges can’t do that,” John argued.

 

Mark shrugged. “Well, he did.” He saw John open his mouth but raised his free to forestall John from saying anything. “So you can stand here arguing or you can go try to help save what’s left of the town before it burns to the ground.” He gestured to the thick pillars of smoke billowing into the sky.

 

Unnoticed a little ways a way, Seth had opened his eyes. For a while he listened to the argument taking place, trying to figure out what the hell had happened and where the hell he was and why the hell he was laying on the ground. He scowled up at the sky and sat up abruptly when he heard Roman talking to Randy. The sudden movement caused stabbing pain behind his eyes and he clutched his head in his hands. Gradually, it receded and he raised his head and looked around. He didn’t recognize Kevin Owens, who was standing nearby looking both bored and amused at Randy and John and Mark’s stand-off. Neither did he recognize Finn Bálor and Hideo Itami. To his eyes, Itami was a normal person, but for the first time in his life Seth could see a demon. He gasped in horror when he saw it was inside of Finn. It was looming next to Roman who was looking like death warmed over. A shot of adrenaline woke Seth up completely and he scrambled to his feet, swaying for a few seconds before he caught his balance. He felt strange, like he didn’t know his own body anymore. He half jogged half staggered over to Roman and landed on his knees beside his brother. He reached out to place a hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman jerked away with a warning glare.

 

“Roman? What’s going on?” Seth asked. His eyes were wide with confusion and hurt. He didn't understand what he was seeing, or how he could even see what he was seeing. And Roman was _glaring_ at him like he thought Seth was going to attack him. “What happened? Who are these people?”

 

Roman’s expression changed from suspicious to cautiously hopeful. “Seth, is that really you?” he asked, still wary about being tricked. But the weird golden glow that been in Seth's eyes was gone.

 

Still confused, Seth nodded. “What happened? Why are you hurt? And where the fuck is Dean?”

 

Instead of answering, Roman threw his good arm around Seth’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder. He felt his eyes sting and his throat closed but he didn’t care. His brother was back.

 

Stunned, Seth wrapped his arms around Roman and held him close. He saw Hideo smiling at him, but Seth was too distracted to be embarrassed because as he held Roman in his arms, Seth could _feel_ Roman’s injuries, where they were and how much they hurt. All he wanted was to take the pain away from Roman. Then something deep inside of him responded to his wish. It was new, like light given form and Seth hesitantly reached for that light. He pulled it out of himself and channeled it into Roman. He concentrated on Roman’s broken arm and cracked sternum, soothing the pain and mending the tissues.

 

Feeling his injuries healed, Roman jerked back, away from Seth. “What the fuck?” he demanded, glaring at Seth again. “What did you just do?”

 

Staring at his hands, Seth shrugged. “I don't know. You were hurt. I tried to help,” he said simply. He didn’t know how he had done it and it scared him but he tried to cover it up. He didn’t think what he had done was evil. Now Roman looked as confused as he felt.

 

Then Hideo spoke and Finn translated for them. What Hideo and Punk had done to Seth was pretty close to what Hideo had done to help Finn with Bálor. Except with Bálor, Hideo had been rushed and he hadn’t had Punk’s assistance. As a result, Finn’s seal was unstable. In contrast, Seth’s was functioning perfectly. “The angel that possessed your friend was not banished. Rather, Hideo and the other one merged it with your friend’s soul. Your friend can tap into the angel’s power at will, but the angel can never again regain control over your friend. It is trapped there, forever.” Seeing Seth’s look of horror, and Roman’s face darkened in anger Finn raised an eyebrow. “After everything the angel did to you and your friends, why would you want to reward it by sending it back to Heaven? As you can see, Seth can use its power. That might come in handy in the future, given what you guys do,” he finished drily.

 

Put like that, Roman could see the advantage of having a captive angel. However, “Are you sure it can’t take him over?” he asked. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Seth again.

 

Nodding, Hideo answered in English. “Yes, the seals are a part of him now. The angel will never break free.”

 

Still confused Seth frowned, but Roman stood up and looked Hideo straight in the eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I owe you for what you did to help bring my brother back.”

 

Hideo, a bit uncomfortable from the intensity of Roman’s stare, merely nodded. Beside him, Finn smiled too. Kevin sneered and rolled his eyes.

 

Smiling back, Roman turned to Seth. “Think you can heal Dean?” he asked, motioning to Dean’s body on the ground. Nodding, Seth reached out to Dean, gently placing his hands on Dean’s face where blood was still leaking out of his nose and crushed cheek bone. This time and with more confidence he healed Dean’s cracked skull and other Beast-inflicted injuries. He was just about the withdraw when he felt the raw pain in Dean’s soul, recently sustained from the damage the Colt Walkers had caused, and he soothed that too. He was feeling rather light headed when he pulled away from Dean and stood up. Roman steadied him with an arm around his waist. And then, unable to help himself, he hugged Seth again. Bemused, Seth let Roman hold him close. “You’re going to have to tell me what I missed,” he said.

 

“In a minute. Dean is waking up,” Roman said. They watched the lunatic take a deep breath and open his eyes.

 

“Hey,” Seth greeted Dean, crouching down to give Dean a hand up. Dean's eyes widened, and before Seth could react, Dean's fist slammed against Seth's jaw with a loud _crack_.

 

“Son of a _bitch_!” Seth yelped, jumping back from Dean and holding his jaw. It wasn't broken but damn did that hurt! “What the fuck was that for?”

 

“Stay away from me, you piece of shit!” Dean snarled. He rolled to his feet in one smooth motion. The commotion had attracted everyone’s attention and he sneered at them. “What?” he demanded. “I told him not to come near me!” He wiped the blood away from his mouth and nose with the back of his hand.

 

“Dean, settle down,” Roman ordered, though he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “It’s not the angel. Seth is back.”

 

That brought Dean up short. “What?” he asked again. “Are you shitting me?”

 

“Dean, it’s me,” Seth said, rubbing his jaw and watching Dean warily. He took a step back so he was next to Roman, not quite pressing up against him but close. He had honestly no idea what had happened to make Dean act the way he did.

 

“Seth?” Dean asked, getting right up into Seth’s face and looking carefully into Seth’s eyes, who by now really was pressing up against Roman, wary of another punch to the face. “How?” he asked.

 

“They did it,” Roman told him, grinning as he waved to Hideo.

 

“They got rid of the angel?” Dean asked, a smile breaking across his face in delight.

 

“No, they merged it to Seth’s soul,” Finn said, smiling.

 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Dean spun on Hideo, demanding an answer. Finn's eyes narrowed but Hideo never needed help fighting his own battles.

 

Looking extremely satisfied, Hideo spoke. “The angel can never leave. It’s trapped inside of him, forever. Your friend is in control now. It will stay that way until he dies. And when he dies, the angel will too.” Finn translated to them.

 

“So the angel is fucked for the rest of its life?” Hideo nodded. Dean broke into a large grin. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer asshole.” Dean knew they couldn’t have ‘rescued’ Seth without the three men’s help. Saying ‘thank you’ wasn’t his strong point, but he made the attempt. “So, uh, look. You guys came in handy and I appreciate it.”

 

“This is all well and good,” Kevin interrupted. “But when am I going to get paid?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Finn said, “Soon,” and offered his hand to Dean. Accepting it, Dean and Finn shook hands and next to them, Hideo bowed to Dean. He didn’t like to be touched by people except for Finn. Dean bowed back. However, he didn’t offer to shake hands with Kevin, who wouldn’t have done it anyway. The bored look never left his face.

  
  


Looking less than enthusiastic, Finn said to Kevin, “Come on Kevin; let’s find our horses so we can get you your money and we can be done with you.”

“About time,” Kevin grumbled as the three walked away.

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Seth observed. But he didn’t dwell on it for long as Dean caught him up in a hug that squeezed all the air out of his lungs. He huffed a surprised laugh and patted Dean on the back. Next to them, Roman grinned then he caught both of the up in is arms.

A few feet away however, things were not so happy. “Your revenge will have to wait,” Mark was saying to Randy. “I didn’t bring you back so you could kill yourself going up against Hunter.” This conversation didn’t need to take place in front of everyone. Mark knew the respect Randy had for him would be tested but he would force the Legend Killer if Randy proved stubborn. He needed Randy to understand, but the son was just like his father, and he knew if he didn’t do it the right way, Randy would rebel against him and any influence he had would be lost. But Randy desperately needed him whether he would admit it or not. For too long, the son had been without his father, but had to pay for his father's sins over and over again. “Those three can finish off the Ascension. I need you with me.”

“Why?” Randy asked, narrowing his eyes, but he was listening.

“Because I said so,” Mark said, sounding like every parent since the dawn of time. Randy opened his mouth to argue, but Mark shook his head. “Look, son, this situation has been resolved for now , but there is someplace you and I need to be or we will end up with another Beast situation.”

The rage and rebellion faded from Randy, leaving him looking young and vulnerable. “Fuck. Where are we going?”

“South,” Mark told him. There was a gang of outlaws operating in the Idaho territory who called themselves Bullet Club. Things were about to get messy and a certain individual was going to need Mark’s help very soon. “I’ll fill you in along the way.”

“But what about Hunter?” Randy wanted to know. He looked like he was going to be sick. “He has to pay for what he did.”

 

“He will,” John said with unexpected intensity. “After I get the situation here sorted out, I’m heading back out east. I’ll make sure he answers for what he did. I promise.”

 

“I’ll hold you too that,” Randy told him.

 

“I won't let you down,” John promised. He looked around again. “I need to go. They need me in town. Take care, Orton. I'll let you know when I get Hunter.” John held out a hand. Unexpectedly touched, Randy shook it. Then John turned, nodded to Mark and headed towards town. The smoke boiling up into the air was getting thicker and there were shouts for help. He passed by Punk, who had disappeared without anyone noticing. Punk was riding his appaloosa, and leading Randy’s, Marks’ and John’s horses. He tossed John the reins to his bay mare as he rode by. John caught them and mounted up, kicking the mare into a lope as he heading towards town without looking back.

 

Randy took the reins and leaned his head briefly against the roan's neck. The horse turned and lipped his shoulder. Randy still didn’t look very happy, but Mark was relieved. “Alright son, we have to move.” He wanted to get Randy away from there before anything else happened. He glanced over at the three former US Deputy Marshals, who were watching with interest, and Punk.

 

“I too must return to my people. Until our paths cross again Legend Killer,” Punk said. He was looking north, head cocked to the side as if he was listening to something only he could hear.

 

“Take care, Punk,” Randy said. He wasn’t going to cry, but there was a heavy weight in his chest.

 

The half-breed wasn’t one for long goodbyes. Indeed, there wasn’t a word in his language for it. He preferred to come and go without warning. But he nodded to Mark, and ignoring the others, Punk kicked his horse into a canter and headed north. Randy didn't like uneasy feeling he had as he watched Punk disappear out of sight. Shrugging it off, Randy turned to Dean and Roman. He didn't know what to say. Neither did they. They all stood around looking uncomfortable until Seth sighed and rolled his eyes. He held out his hand. “Orton, can't say it was fun but we got through it.”

 

Relieved, Randy took Seth's hand and shook it. “Keep an eye on those two, Rollins. Don't let them get dead too soon.”

 

“I won't,” Seth promised. Thanks to Punk and Itami, he now had a much better chance of making sure Roman and Dean would stay alive.

 

“Take care kid,” Randy told Roman, who for once didn't object. Roman shook Randy's hand then briefly pulled him into a hug, which Randy returned.

 

“As for you, brat,” Randy started, turning to Dean, but Dean just shifted on his feet and stared challengingly at Randy. Randy grinned evilly. “Remember what I taught you. Don't let them take your guns.”

 

Dean smiled and he too pulled Randy in for a brief hug. Then Randy and Mark mounted up and without looking back, headed out and were soon lost among the trees, leaving the three of them standing alone.

 

Eventually, Seth broke the silence. “So now that we are no longer with the US Marshals, what are we going to do?” he asked the other two.

 

“If I remember correctly, Dean was saying something about turning outlaw,” Roman smirked. He recalled them having the same conversation when they set out after the Wyatts, a lifetime ago.

 

For a moment Dean actually looked thoughtful. But then he shook his head, “Nah, I think I’d rather be a bounty hunter. That way I can get paid to catch outlaws.”

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Seth said. “It’s not illegal, you're your own boss and can work on your own time. If you want a partner...”

 

Pleased, Dean grinned. Hearing Seth volunteer to stay with him made him happier than he’d been in years. He leaned closer and made a show of examining Seth. “Nice hair,” he commented with a sarcastic smirk. Now that he was sure Seth was going to be okay he decided that Seth needed to be teased mercilessly.

 

“You are such a fucking moron,” Seth told him, embarrassed. He ran a hand through the blond streak. He wondered if it would grow out. He hoped it would, it looked ridiculous.

 

Seeing them bickering again, Roman couldn’t help a laugh and extended his fist. Grinning, the other two touched theirs to his. They were together and nothing in Heaven or Hell could ever change that.

 

Believe that.

 

**Epilogue**

 

The sun was just barely peeking over the rolling hills when Punk returned to the land of his people. He rode up to the campfire with its lone occupant and slipped off his appaloosa, gently removing the bridle and letting the horse go free. He watched it run off, tail held high, and then he turned and spoke to Crowfoot. “It’s finished,” he said.

 

Crowfoot nodded. He looked satisfied yet sad. He smiled at Punk, who sat down next to the fire. The old man took a wooden flute and began to play, a quiet song that greeted the sun. Punk blinked his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. He lay down, listening to the flute. Crowfoot played on.

 

As he listened to the song, Punk realized that he remembered something, and sat up. The sun blazed on the horizon. There was a soft wicker from nearby and he saw the spirit horse, waiting for him. Without looking back, he got to his feet and swung up bareback onto the horse’s back. Without any prompting from Punk, the horse set off at a canter to the spirit lands. Punk smiled when he heard the flute bid him a safe journey and a promise that one day he would be once again be reunited with his grandfather.

 

Alone once more, the old man put the flute down and sighed.

 

**The End**

 

_This is the end of Legend Killer. Yes, Hunter escaped, but I could never have killed Triple H. I am done writing stories about the Shield boys for now. With the Shield broken up and both Seth and Randy being gone for so long, my interest has switched over to other wrestlers, like AJ Styles. So guess what? My next story will be about the Phenomenal One. But it will be set in the Legend Killer 'verse, so the other characters may show up here and there. Like Mark, of course! =)_

 

_A big huge thank you to Kiss316 who beta'ed for me. She is amazing._

 

_And a final thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU! to every one of you who took the time to give me feedback and encouragement (and Kudos!). It was literally you who kept me writing. So this story is as much yours as it is mine._

 

_Belle Elegant_

 

 


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